Fighting With Dragons
by Shady-777
Summary: Years in the future, Draco, one of the most powerful warlocks in the world, tries to cope with an unsettling revelation. Meanwhile, a jealous Bellatrix spends her last hours scheming against Voldemort's soontobe wife. AU.
1. Flight of the Dragon

_**April 21, 2035**_

_**10:02 PM**_

_**Somewhere in the wilderness of the Highlands, Scotland**_

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Torrents of rain spilled from heavy clouds, washing over the dark hills below like black ink upon a dark canvas. Biting winds lashed mercilessly at stubborn precipes, bending grass flat and burying small animals alive under flows of mud. No light, natural or otherwise, penetrated the gloom. It was a miserable night.

Most creatures were tucked safely inside their dens or burrows, waiting out the storm in the warmth of the earth. Those too big for tunneling took refuge in caves, or whatever cover they could find. Birds huddled on their nests or clung resiliently to the branches of trees or sheltered rocks.

Only one creature dared to remain out in the open. The storm had no power over him. Rain pelted his tough, scaly hide in vain. Strong winds barely hindered his movement. The darkness was no match for the glowing blue eyes which cut through it with ease, shielded from the rain's fury by the intense aura of heat they projected.

The creature was a dragon.

A dragon unlike all others.

For one thing, he didn't belong to any existing dragon species. His magnificent form was a hodgepodge of select features from several species, all blended together with some unique alterations. No other dragon boasted his size, or his coloration of a solid green body tipped with a bright yellow snout, toes, and blazes of gold on the last half of the tail. Indeed, no other dragon possessed the power to make its eyes glow at all, never mind project an aura of heat to vaporize incoming raindrops.

But this dragon was special.

Special because he wasn't really a dragon at all, but a warlock. A warlock named Draco Malfoy.

This form was one of Draco's favorites. In it he felt invincible. Powerful. Safe from all danger. He loved gliding over rivers and lakes, sailing through canyons and over vast expanses of pure, untouched wilderness. Sometimes on a clear night he would morph to dragon and fly up as high as he could go. So high that the ground below looked like a giant black blanket covered in tiny pinpoints of light, and the chill of the air stung his skin until he almost couldn't stand it. Then he would fold his wings and plummet back down, reveling in the feel of the wind in his face, thinking a thousand pleasant thoughts, longing for the moment to last forever.

Tonight was not one of those nights. It wasn't the weather—Draco could simply disapparate to a more agreeable location if he felt so inclined—but his mood that kept him from experiencing the bliss of dragon-ness.

After everything that had happened, he couldn't believe she was getting back together with him.

The 'she' in question was his daughter, Wicca, whom he'd given up all hope on ever persuading to make an intelligent decision. The 'he' was her fiancé, Tom Riddle, who fancied himself 'Lord Voldemort'.

Draco powered his way through the rain, flapping heavily against the wind. He needed something physical, something real to take his anger out on. Tom, of course, was out of the question, being more than double his power and notoriously ill-tempered. So he fought the storm, alone, while he tried to come to grips with the fact that Wicca was going to marry the very man who had been trying to kill her for the past seventeen years.

Why? Why was she doing this foolish, foolish thing? He simply couldn't wrap his mind around it. 'He has a full soul now' was the reason she'd given. Like one-seventh-of-a-soul Tom was really going to be any different than fully-ensouled Tom. Draco had tried his hardest to talk her out of it. He'd pointed out that having a full soul hadn't stopped Tom from ruthlessly murdering his own family. Hadn't stopped him from becoming an evil monster, one of the most vile warlocks in all of history. Wicca had taken everything he'd said, it seemed, with a grain of salt. Things were different now, she'd argued. _Tom _was different. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. Subtle little differences that made all the difference in the world. She was convinced he was 'better now' and would never turn on her again. Despite Tom's role in the death of their son. Despite the fact that he had very nearly killed her. Despite it all.

Draco had spent most of the day arguing with her. When he'd pointed out that Tom was not only the wizarding world's greatest enemy, but his as well, her response had been a definitive 'Don't worry, Daddy. I won't let him hurt you, Mum, or Drake'. When he'd highlighted the fact that Tom did what he wanted when he wanted, and no-one, including Wicca was going to be able to stop him, he might as well have been talking to a wall. His assertions that Tom was probably only interested in her purely for physical reasons, just as before, were met with the same results. Finally, at his wit's end, he'd considered Imperioing her, but had decided against it. Such a harsh refusal may prompt Tom to attack her, or else he would quickly catch on and lash out at the most likely culprit: him.

In the end Draco had had to resign himself to defeat. Storming off, he'd disapparated to the woods and assumed his dragon form, flying around aimlessly until he reached this place.

The rainstorm was refreshing. The cold wind and water calmed his nerves. Throwing his head towards the heavens, he opened his mouth. Let the rain slide down his tongue and into his throat. To his delight, it had that fresh, pure taste that only came from water falling over untouched land. He drank cupfuls of it before snapping those fierce reptilian jaws shut and realigning his head with his back.

Where to go?

A giant hilltop in the distance beckoned. Even in the driving rain, a small cap of snow remained on its top.

Draco beat his wings all the harder, silently uttering a spell that would increase his strength. The extra power took hold, and he sliced through the opposing wind nicely, doubling his speed.

_Maybe Willow will be able to knock some sense into her. _he thought hopefully. Willow was Wicca's mum and damn good at those heart-to-hearts. If anyone could convince Wicca she was making a huge mistake, she could.

Willow was out-of-country at the moment, but she was due back any day now, and if she didn't show up fast enough Draco knew where to find her. He loathed the idea of disapparating to L.A. and mixing with _that_ lot again, but his daughter's future was worth spending some unsavory time in the company of super-strong muggles, two vampires with souls, a werewolf, and a millions-of-years-old 'pure' demon complete with blazing cobalt eyes trapped in the body of a skinny young woman.

_Willow has a weird circle of friends. _he reflected. Last time he was there the vampires had questioned his morality while the demon had tested his patience with stories of the ancient past when she had been god to a god and everything else had been muck. The closest he'd come to an engaging conversation was when one of Willow's dearest friends, a one-eyed muggle by the name of Xander, had started to mention the time he'd saved the world from Dark Willow. Regrettably, Willow had hushed him up before he could get any further than the part about her flaying someone alive.

Such a shame. Draco would have loved to have heard more about _that_.

Almost there.

Just for the fun of it, Draco brought his wings in closer to his body and curved the tips down. Rolled midair.

_Hell yes! Fen powers rule! _

For a few minutes, the world disappeared. At least, as far as Draco was concerned it did. Shoving all other thoughts aside, he gave in to his most basic desire and lost himself in the dragon.

With mighty wing-beats, he regained lost altitude. Climbing higher and higher into the air, he opened his mouth and let loose with a roar befitting a creature of his stature, a roar even the gale of the storm could not fully contain.

Power!

Control!

He was the master of the skies, the lord and ruler over all above and below. All other creatures trembled in his presence. No one challenged him. No one dared. Flapping fiercely in the wind, he positioned himself vertically for a second or two. Then his slender head shot downward, trailing the rest of his body behind it.

Down!

The ground rushed up to meet him, the wind raging against his body, washing the green, yellow, and gold scales in a spray of rain.

Faster and faster!

A herd of stray sheep caught out in the open looked up and broke into a panicked run several hundred feet below. Draco saw them as clearly as if they were bathed in light, his magically-enhanced eyes missing nothing, not even the numbers on the blue tags they wore in their ears.

An especially strong wind flared up, and, spreading his wings to full length, he used his momentum to swoop up and catch it, his path taking a 'U' shape.

Exhilarating! Why stop there?

Drawing his wings in until they were half-closed, he repeated the roll he'd done earlier, enjoying the sensation of a spinning, wet sky. He was an acrobat putting on the world's best aerial performance. Showy displays discouraged rivals and attracted mates—

_What the __**hell **__am I thinking?_

Wicca, Tom, Willow, his situation—it all came rushing back to him in an odious, ugly blur. He wasn't a real dragon. He was merely a warlock trying to forget his problems by temporarily taking the _shape_ of a dragon. But it had been so easy to slip into that carefree dragon mind, so tempting to stay…

While Draco was beyond animagi in the fact that he could transform into just about any creature he wanted—mythical or otherwise—without losing his mind, and choose any color pattern he pleased, he was no more immune to the presence of the animal mind than they were. Skilled and powerful as he was, it was usually a simple matter to clamp down on the animal instincts bubbling up beneath his own psyche. But, as with animagi, it was possible to retreat into a small corner of the mind, allowing the animal conscience to gain control and dominate outward actions. This loss of control could be either deliberate or accidental.

Draco's had been deliberate, but he hadn't meant to take it that far. Judging by everything he'd seen and heard, it could've been hours or even days before he remembered his true self, and anything could happen in that time. Much as he loved dragons, he had no desire to explore every aspect of their lives through their perspective.

Back on track, he flew to the top of the hill he'd spied earlier. Hovering over a select spot, he made his landing. The slushy snow caved in without the ghost of resistance under first his back feet, then his front. Digging long, sharp talons into the frozen ground, he steadied himself. Folded his wings.

_This may not be solving my problems, but it sure feels good. _If Wicca was deadest on marrying the bloody Dark Lord, well, there wasn't anything he could do about it.

So he'd have to resort to just wishing for the best.

Hopefully Tom had gotten over that whole I-want-to-split-up-my-soul phase now that he was immortal. It would make sense, being as how his lack of immortality had driven him to do that in the first place.

And, much as Draco hated to admit it, he _had_ seen a difference in Tom lately. Not a big one, but one worthy of note. He seemed a little less passionate about hunting down his enemies and scheming against the other Fen.

Then a thought presented itself—if Wicca's statements were genuine, if Tom really _had _changed somehow when Rich had shoved the rest of his soul back into his body, then maybe Wicca was better off with him. Tom was capable of protecting her from any threat Draco could envision, and he'd definitely have the means to get her whatever her heart desired.

_Too bad that I can't be sure it's genuine, or that he wouldn't hurt her if she were to upset him in any way. _Of the many things Tom was known for, his willingness to forgive was not high on the list. This applied regardless of how much of his soul he happened to be in the possession of at the moment.

Draco let his eyes rest on a smaller hill not far in the distance. Mentally, he uttered the incantation to end his nightvision. Instantly everything plunged into blackness to the point where he could no longer make out even the smallest silhouette of the hill.

There.

That was more comfortable.

His head hurt from the stress of trying to figure out whether or not his only daughter, his little Wicca, was going to be okay.

On impulse spurred by frustration, he rocked back on his haunches, spread his wings, thrust his head skyward, opened his mouth as wide as it would go, and exhaled a thick jet of flame. He kept this fountain of fire up for almost a full minute, swinging his head from side to side to better admire the sparkling white-orange plume.

_Take __**that **__animagi! Hah! _

Animagi were so weak. Before he'd gotten a taste of true power he'd held a grudging respect for them, but now they seemed no different than the common witches and wizards. Not that there were many 'old-fashioned' animagi around these days anyway.

Snapping his jaws shut, he killed his flame and fell back on all fours.

The moment had passed. He'd had his alone time. Now he felt the urge to prowl the streets of Hogsmeade.

Yes…Hogsmeade sounded awfully inviting about now, what with its hapless citizens and numerous outlets for socialization. Firewhiskey would really hit the spot, especially after being out on a cold night like this. Draco could almost taste it. _I think I'll visit the Leaky Cauldron. The folks there are usually up for a chat. I can spill my heart out to them, and take any unsympathetic gits out back where I will suck the magic right out of them. And…I'd better go now, before I start trying to claim territory or look for a mate or something._

That settled, Draco shut his eyes on concentrated on his true form, willing the magic to make the change.

The entire transformation took less than a second to happen—the large dragon shrunk and lost its wings, tail, and horns instantaneously while everything else on its body changed too swiftly for mortal eyes to follow.

Draco was human again. The wind tossed his white-blonde locks asunder and plastered his stylish black robes firmly against his back, causing the ends to flare forward dramatically. He held that position for a brief instant; then he vanished.

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_**A/N: **__This is a companion ficlet to my story __**A Riddle In Time**_. _Check that out if any of this appeals to you. Reviews are the stuff of dreams!_


	2. At The Leaky Cauldron

_**A/N: **__Chapter 2 Comin' at ya! A few notes I'd like to make before you read:_

**1: **_The first part of this chapter is very, very nice to Draco. In fact it glamorizes him. Now, before you ex out of this story in disgust, hear me out—the majority of characters do _**NOT **_feel this way about Draco. The girls you'll read about at the start are huge fans of his, but they do not reflect the entire wizarding world's opinion of him. _

_Also, since most of this chapter is approached from Draco's perspective, it's heavily biased with his personal views and interpretations of other characters and events. Hardly fair and balanced. : ) _

**2. **_No Bellatrix yet. Don't worry, she'll be here full-force in the next chapter! _

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**Chapter 2**

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The sudden appearance of Draco on a sidewalk in Hogsmeade startled a trio of young witches out for a late night stroll. No matter how often they saw the famous warlock do that, they had never really quite gotten used to his unbelievably swift, almost silent apparation. Truly, his title of 'World's Fastest Apparater' was well-earned.

The youngest of the group was the first to greet him. "Draco! Fancy you just popping in like that. We were just talking about you, you know."

The walk was forgotten. The entire troop stopped, gazing upon him with starry eyes.

They were all fairly young—the oldest was only nineteen. Draco had encountered them before a couple of times, but he could never seem to get their names right. They simply weren't that memorable.

A tiny smile slithered across his lips. Draco was fifty-four years old, but thanks to the age-halting effects of ambrosia he didn't look it at all. Any stranger would place him around the age of twenty, twenty-four at most. And he or she wouldn't be entirely wrong, since physically Draco's body really _was_ between those ages: it was twenty-one. It would always be twenty-one. "Nothing bad, I hope?"

The girls giggled, reminding Draco of a gaggle of silly geese.

"Oh no! Of course not!" the oldest — a slender-but-plain woman with a full head of red curls — gushed, "You're our favorite Phenomenal, you know."

Draco's smile broadened. Flattery worked. He could always appreciate some praise, come though it may from the mouths of ditzy fangirls. "Nice to see I've outpaced Severus and Tom in popularity among pretty young witches." _Not that any of you are, in fact, pretty. _he added silently. Tact and Draco were not on intimate terms, but when it came to upholding his godlike image among his adoring fans he was more than willing to tell a few little white lies.

The girls beamed, smiling so wide it had to hurt.

The second-oldest actually bounced on her heels. "Of course! Not only are you wicked powerful, you're devilishly handsome, and rich, _and_ a pureblood! Tom's an evil S.O.B. and Severus is just…eugh." She wrinkled her nose and shivered for effect.

"I still have your autograph!" the youngest bragged, "I sleep by it every night. It's on my nightstand next to the picture of you from 'Fame' magazine that I cut out and wrote '_Slytherin Prince' _over the top of."

_Okay, that's obsession, but in the best way possible._ "Any of you girls purebloods?" Draco threw out there casually, just to see what would happen. Purebloods were extremely rare; there were less than three hundred left in all the world. It was highly unlikely any of these three were.

"I am!" Red Curls declared rapidly, almost vibrating with excitement.

"Oh, me too!" the second-oldest girl chimed.

"I'm a muggle-born, I'm sad to admit, but you can call me 'mudblood' all you want! I thoroughly deserve it. And anyway I hate muggles and other muggle-borns, and I wish to God Almighty I was a pureblood like you, and I'll understand if you don't want to be seen in public with me, but I _really _like you and — "

Draco cut her off with a wave of his hand. "That's enough." He winked at her. "Mudblood." The girl began to swoon, and he turned his sights on her older friends. "As for you two, you don't look like any purebloods I know. Which families are you from?"

"Black!" the second-oldest said quickly.

"Gaunt!" Red Curls blurted.

Draco gave them a funny look. "Oh, so _you're _the last Black, and _you're_ a cousin of Tom's."

It was, of course, utter, utter rubbish. Both of those pureblooded families had died out. All their living relatives either weren't pure or had a different surname. To the best of Draco's knowledge, the Blacks had blended into the muggle, Lestrange, and Malfoy lines ( his mother had been a Black ), and Tom was the only one anywhere with any Gaunt blood worth mentioning.

"Yes, you see, not many people know that Sirius and Regulus had a brother named Altaire," the second-oldest informed him, "he wasn't well-liked by his family, so he, ah…split off from them and married a Rookwood, and they lived in secret for years. I'm his granddaughter Leticia Black."

"I see." Draco said, smiling in good nature. The girl was lying through her teeth, but he found the lengths she was going to to please him flattering. His eyes ticked over to Red Curls. "What's your story?"

"There's not much to say, really."

Detecting a tremor of unease in her voice, Draco decided not to press. The girl worshipped him, and that was all that mattered. _I'll go ahead and give her an easy way out. _"Embarrassed, huh? I don't blame you."

Red Curls's face fell in a blatantly fake way. "Yeah."

Mudblood brightened. "Hey Draco! Do you think you could show us some of your Fen powers?"

"Yeah!" Leticia echoed, "Do some wandless magic!"

"Or turn into a tiger!" Red Curls suggested, eyes wild with excitement, "A blue tiger with silver stripes! That'd be ace!"

Draco ran a hand over his head, pushing stray locks of hair back into place. "It's a bit wet out for tigers." he said, observing the light drizzle, "But I think I can manage a trick or two." He made an arc in the air with his right hand, producing a glittering shower of brilliant gold sparks. As the girls watched, spellbound, the sparks floated around their heads and pulled together to form dazzling, golden halos of pure magic.

"Oh!" Mudblood squealed in delight, eyes fastened upon her friends' halos since she could not see her own so well, "They're _so_ pretty!"

Draco crossed his arms. "Say," he said, a sly twinkle in his eyes, "how would you girls like to join me for a drink at the Leaky Cauldron? I'll pay."

He may as well have just professed his true, undying love for each of them in private. Three faces lit up until they were nearly as bright as the halos above them.

"We'd love to!" Red Curls exclaimed.

Her friends nodded eagerly, practically ecstatic.

"Come on then." Draco turned and led the way down the sidewalk, the bottom of his robes swishing with his steps. The girls were at his side in an instant: two on the right, one on the left. The radiant bands of light drifting around their heads sparkled and shone like living stardust, putting to shame the soft glow of the streetlamps.

They were immediately noticed by an older wizard coming from the opposite direction.

"Mr. Hayes! Look! _Draco's _taking me out for a drink!" Mudblood called out excitedly, loud enough for probably all of Hogsmeade to hear.

"You mean _us_!" Leticia corrected gruffly.

_Fighting over me already. _Draco thought, pleased. Times like this made even the pitfalls of life all worthwhile.

Mr. Hayes smiled and waved at them. "You're in good hands then. Say 'ello to the wife for me Draco."

"I will." Draco promised, noticing the way his company winced at the reference to his being married. _Poor little lambs. They're simply infatuated with me. _He had absolutely no intention of getting serious with any of them, but that didn't mean he couldn't do a little flirting. Ruin them for all other men. Leave them with their fires of desire burning and no way to put them out.

The Leaky Cauldron was only a few blocks away and the girls chatted the whole time, each vying fiercely for Draco's affections.

Draco listened with muted interest as each rambled on about her accomplishments, her likes and dislikes — which, oddly enough, always closely mirrored his own — and how _she_ loved him the most. They were not above bending the truth or downplaying the actions of the other Phenomenals in order to earn his approval, and while he didn't think he could ever tire of listening to how great he was, a silent breath of relief nevertheless escaped his lips when they at last arrived at their destination.

Before entering, he willed the girls' shining headdresses out of existence. They'd had them long enough, and anyway they were glaringly distracting.

Flinging the door open, he strode in proudly, head held high.

One of the pub's night crowd noticed him immediately.

"Why, if it isn't Draco!" a scrawny young man with short black hair exclaimed, slamming his hand down against the table at which he was sitting for extra emphasis, "Hey everybody! Draco's here!"

That grabbed everyone's attention. All heads turned to Draco. The expressions were varied: most people appeared happy or neutral, but some seemed upset, angry, or even terrified. The terrified ones, along with a few others, disapparated on the spot.

Draco paid it no heed. By now he was well used to having that kind of effect on people. "Axel." he greeted the man who'd spoken, "It's been a while." Telepathically, he added (( Keep up the good work. )).

Axel was one of Draco's Deathbusters, and a good one at that. To date he'd killed no fewer than three Aurors, six Death Eaters, and three-hundred muggles. And that wasn't even counting all the other mages he'd killed, or the people he'd seriously injured. Draco liked his style, ambition, and obedient-yet-cheerful attitude. Despite their master-minion relationship, the two were good friends.

"Aye. It has." Beaming, Axel lifted his beer-mug towards Draco in a toast. "To the Malfoys!"

"To the Malfoys!" a few others chorused — some more enthusiastically than others — as they, too, toasted.

Attention. It was all about attention. Draco absorbed the lionization like a sponge. "A toast to you fine people!" he called loudly, "Bartender, get a round for the House!"

So he wasn't on the best terms with everyone here. So what? Looking good in the public eye was worth buying a few drinks for the enemy.

Besides, he was a rich and noble _Malfoy_. Why _shouldn't _he show off? _If you've got it, flaunt it._ And no one had it like he did.

Except, maybe, Willow.

And, okay, Severus and Tom's lack of monetary wealth didn't really matter since they could use their magic to get pretty much whatever they wanted, but they didn't count because they weren't purebloods. Draco may not be the most powerful of the four Fen, but he was the only pureblood among them, and that made him the best.

Not that he'd ever tell _them_ that. They could be quite dangerous when they were cranky.

Approaching the bar, he took a seat on the nearest stool. His little harem clambered after him, almost tripping over each other in their hurry to grab the two vacant seats to either side of him.

Leticia missed out. Mouth twisted into an angry frown, she took a spot to the right of Red Curls.

The bartender dropped his conversation with another customer just like that and hurried over to Draco, giving a polite little bow. "Monsieur Malfoy!" he greeted in a startlingly thick French accent, "How may I serve you?"

_Well, I could always use more Deathbusters._ Draco mused privately, eying the guy over.

Scratch that.

The man was frail, gawky, and kinda girly with an I-couldn't-use-an-unforgivable-to-save-my-life look about him. He'd probably cry and go into the fetal position at the first hint of danger. Crabbe and Goyle would have made better Deathbusters, and that was saying something.

"I'll take a bottle of firewhiskey. Strongest stuff you've got."

The bartender nodded. "One of those days, huh?"

Draco caught his eye. "You have no idea. I'm about to have the Dark Lord for a son-in-law."

That got some attention. Lots of attention. The lively chattered of the pub died. A few gasps rang out.

"You don't say!" the bartender said, startled, as he turned to get Draco's order.

The three girls stared at Draco.

"I wish I hadn't." Draco grumbled, "Believe me, the last thing in the world I want is for my daughter to marry bloody Tom. I just _know _it'll end in tears. I mean, look what happened _last _time. They had a fling, he knocked her up, then tried to kill her once he found out she was pregnant with his child. Just because he was afraid the kid might grow up to be stronger than him."

The bartender set a large bottle of firewhiskey down in front of him. Draco opened his right hand and it slid in as if pulled by a strong magnet. "It took every bit of magic Willow, Severus, and I could summon just to keep her hidden, and I'm sure you all remember how Rich had to be raised by Weasleys. I had to pretend not to know my own grandson almost until the day he died, and then I think Tommy-Boy had a role in that as well." He drew his free hand up over the top of his drink and the cork popped out into his waiting palm. Closing his fingers over it, he took a quick sip of the bottle's contents, grimacing at the liquor's strong taste. Showing off, he turned his closed hand up for all to see, opening it to reveal the cork was missing. "I don't know about you lot, but I don't believe all that rot about the death mist catching him while he was busy trying to ram a soul down Tom's throat. For God's sake the boy was the only one who could hold the mist _back_. Those white wards of his could stand up to both it and Tom's killing curses, so unless Rich was just standing there doing nothing he should have been able to protect himself."

"Against both at once?" the bartender questioned, moving over to Leticia.

Draco took another sip of firewhiskey before replying. "Well, I don't know about _that_, but it wasn't like Tom and the mist were in cahoots. If it had swept in half as fast as Tom says it would've killed both of them. And just look who's _word_ we have to go on: Tom's. That alone destroys the credibility. You know what I think? I'm not convinced the mist even shadowed those two. I think Rich and Tom got into it, had a right proper father-son fight, and Tom killed Rich at exactly the moment he forced his soul back into him. Either at that moment or the moment right after. Tom's an ass with or without a soul."

"Then why would he lie about it?" a new voice said, "Why not brag about killing his goody-good son?"

Draco pivoted on his seat to see Harry stroll in through the front door, dressed in his usual black Auror attire.

He was alone, which was unusual. Normally he was flanked by two or three friends, more-often-than-not including Draco's own 'goody-good' son Drake, who tended to stick to him like a conjoined twin most of the time. His expression was grim, but there wasn't anything out of the ordinary about _that _— Harry rarely smiled these days.

Like Draco, Harry was an immortal who looked as though he were in his early twenties. This stemmed from the fact that he and Draco were the same age, and they'd both gotten ambrosia at around the same time.

"Isn't it obvious?" Draco said, making sure to scowl a bit for good measure. He wasn't too upset with Harry at the moment, but he couldn't have him getting any silly ideas about them ever being able to bury the hatchet. "He wants Wicca back. Easier to lie to her than put her under a spell so she'll stay with him."

Harry climbed onto a vacant stool at the end of the bar, close to the main entrance. The wizard occupying the seat next to him got up and moved. Quickly.

_He must be a shade, or else up to no good. _Harry thought. Those were the main types of people that didn't like sitting next to Aurors, particularly the Auror General. He'd have to keep an eye on him. "True enough, but I have to wonder. Tom's been acting strange lately."

The bartender was taking the girls' orders now.

Draco's scowl became a little more genuine. "How so?" he asked, completely ignoring little details like his fangirls' favorite drinks.

"Well, a few nights ago he turned down a chance to kill me."

"You're kidding!"

"No. I'm not." Harry insisted, completely serious, "It was during the attack on Nice. I heard the warning that Tom had arrived, but I was in the middle of protecting a family of muggles, a mother and her three young children. Death Eaters had already killed the father. I couldn't just leave them there — they would have all died horribly. So I stayed and fought. I managed to get them to safety, but by then Tom had already cast his anti-apparating spell, and as you know I lost the ring that protected me from that months ago. He found me before I could leave the muggle house. I did what I could, but he knocked my wand out of my hand and cornered me, taunting me the whole time, telling me I shouldn't be sad because I'd get to be with my parents and son again, and everyone I cared about wouldn't be long joining us." He paused for breath, sorrow weighing heavily upon his features.

"He said he'd been waiting years for the moment. That he was going to savor watching the light leave my eyes. I really thought I was going to die, that after all these years my luck had finally run out. I got ready to give him one last shock, hit him with the nastiest curse I could manage wandlessly. He pointed his wand at me. Smirked. Then, for no reason at all, his face contorted in the strangest way, and he jerked his wand up and fired a killing curse into the ceiling. I swear, Draco, it was like he was possessed. Like he was fighting for control of his own body. He didn't go into a fit or convulsions or anything, but his hands trembled a _lot _and he couldn't seem to make them do what he wanted. Also, his expression kept changing, like he couldn't make up his mind how he was feeling. After a minute or two of this he turned and ran out of the house as if Satan himself were after him, giving me a raincheck on murdering me."

"So he was scared?" Draco ventured, startled.

Harry shook his head. "No. Just fleet-footed."

"But why would he run from you?"

"I've been asking myself the same thing ever since it happened." Harry said with a small sigh, rubbing his temple with two fingers. The action dislodged his glasses.

Draco turned an eyebrow up at him in mild surprise. "So let me get this straight: you're upset because Tom _didn't_ kill you?" (( If it's bothering you that much, mate, I can finish the job. ))

"No, it's just…" Harry fumbled for the right words. His glasses slid further down the bridge of his nose, and he pushed them back up. "…not like him. Soul or no, I should be dead — "

"No argument here." Draco interrupted brightly.

"— It makes me wonder what's going on." (( And we both know that if you were going to kill me, you would have done it by now. )) While outwardly he remained serious, there was just a touch of good nature in Harry's mental voice.

No matter how much he and Draco fought, he could never quite bring himself to hate him. There were times when he came close — real close — but even in those moments there was a part of him deep down, a sliver of his soul that had a higher vantage point than all the rest, that could see where he was coming from and forgive some of his sins. Draco was a bad apple, but he wasn't rotten to the core. Harry couldn't help but to think that in different circumstances, with different people raising him, he could have developed into a basically good person — maybe even one of his best friends.

Draco raised the tip of his bottle to his lips and, after first making sure his ladies were watching, took a good long drink, shutting his eyes for dramatic effect. (( Ever think that maybe the reason you're still sucking air is to draw Voldemort's attention away from me? If it weren't for him you can bet that silly scar on your head I would've already given you the Star Scream special. ))

He set his drink down, barely stifling the urge to retch the portion he'd just swallowed back up. _Real_ warlocks held their liquor.

Opening his eyes, he checked to see if the girls were impressed.

They were.

Satisfied, he returned his attention to Harry. "Maybe Tommy-Boy really _is_ possessed," he suggested, having long since grown accustomed to holding both a public and private conversation simultaneously, "Think about it. Whatever resurrected him did it for a reason, and I highly doubt it was because it just loved him so much. It gave him his young-adult body, completely free from the forked tongue and vertical slits for a nose we all remember, and enough magical power to survive and even flourish among the rest of us. Ask yourself: what did this being have to gain?"

"That's the question we've all been asking for years." the bartender said, moving over to Harry. "And what may I get for you, General Potter? Your first drink is on the house courtesy of Malfoy." He winked at him.

For the first time since he'd arrived, a frail smile graced Harry's face. Meeting his old rival's gaze, he called lightly, "Thanks Draco!"

Draco scoffed and looked away. (( Don't get used to it. ))

"I'll have a spiced pumpkin juice. With rum." Harry watched as the bartender went to fill his order. "So you're saying the being who resurrected Tom did so in order to possess him later on? There's some sense to that, but why did it wait eighteen years? Tom's no stronger now than he was back then, and his forces haven't grown a _whole_ lot despite his annoying habit of letting known Death Eaters live with him."

"Maybe it needed him to have a full soul." Draco's tone was the verbal equivalent of a shrug.

"Then why didn't it just resurrect him with one?"

"Maybe it couldn't, or maybe it wasn't the right time."

"That's too many maybes." Harry sighed, disheartened. "Whatever the reason, I'm a little concerned that it had that much power to spare."

"For all we know that was only a drop in the bucket for it." Draco said wryly.

Harry frowned. "Oh, thanks for _that_ lovely thought. Tom has the power of two Fen. Bad enough knowing there's something out there that was able to bring him back to life with that kind of power — I don't want to meet the guy that considers that child's play."

"There's still the question of why," Red Curls interjected, undoubtedly tired of just sitting around looking pretty, "I mean, Draco has a point — what does this thing gain?"

"Well, if it's evil — and being as how it brought _Voldemort _of all people back we have to consider that possibility — it gains chaos and the deaths of a lot of good guys." Leticia stated.

"I still think possession." Draco said as Harry's drink arrived.

"It could be that Tom himself is a minion." Harry offered grimly, snatching his mug. "The forces of good would have never resurrected him and the forces of evil always demand something in return. Maybe Tom's being used, with or without his knowledge, to pave the way for this _thing_, whatever it is."

"Then it's getting a rotten deal." Draco noted, scowling a bit when Harry took a drink, "Tom hasn't conquered the world yet."

"Only because _we've_ been here to stop him," Harry pointed out, "You, Willow, and Severus are more than a match for him when you work together, and Drake and I may not quite be in you guys' league, but we're leaps above the average mage. Individually he could wipe the floor with any one of us. But if the five of us were to gang up on him, we'd murder him."

"Or not. You're forgetting that Willow, Severus, and I already tried the whole ambush-and-destroy technique. _Three times_. Didn't work so well, remember? The first two times he just apparated away and taught us all that when he doesn't _want_ found he doesn't _get_ found. The third time he decided to stay, and, as Willow put it, 'crack open a barrel of whoop-ass'. He did a right good job of it too. She and Severus were just barely able to hold their own without getting seriously, _seriously _hurt, and I got put in a bloody coma."

"It only lasted for four days!" Harry threw out, agitated.

"I could have been killed!" Draco snapped loudly enough to draw extra attention, "Those four days Willow and Severus had to work round the clock just to keep me alive. Is your memory really that bad? Or didn't anybody tell you? If all Tom wants to do is kill you, then you've got it made. Take it from me — Crucioburn is a thousand times worse than the worst Crucio you can imagine. Worse than being skinned alive and having firewhiskey poured over your raw flesh while hundreds of doxies slowly eat it off the bone. I kid you not. Nothing, and I mean _nothing_ compares. And if you think I'm going to risk that again you should have yourself committed to Windcliff or St. Mungo's, because obviously you've lost your mind."

"I don't blame you for being a little rattled," Harry admitted, "but you have to see that the only way we're ever going to be rid of Tom is if we work together. All of us. Not just you and the other Fen. Willow and Severus did more damage than you think last time. If we had more people — "

"He'd run like the chicken he is, and we'd be left talking to ourselves. And I am _not_ going to let Drake get involved in anything having to do with taking Tom down, so you can get those silly ideas out of your head this instant."

"Fine then." Harry conceded sharply, "Just you, me, Willow, and Severus. I'm sure we can work out something to get around his disappearing act."

"Like what?" Draco shot, wrinkling his nose as if there were an unpleasant smell in the air, "Even if we conjured a triple-Fen-strength anti-apparating barrier he'd still be able to sense our presence from the moment we arrived and kill at least one of us — probably _you _— within the first minute."

"E 'as a point." a man near the back of the room spoke up, "Ees 'ard ta sneak up on Fen."

Frustrated, Harry slammed his hand down on the table, causing the whole room to jump. "I _know _that," he ground out, struggling to keep his tone mostly civil, "I'm very familiar with Fen powers by now." Green eyes bore into Draco's. "I know what you guys can and can't do, especially with all the showing off you and Tom do. But we can't just sit back and do nothing while innocent people die every day. The Death Eaters are a huge problem right now. As long as Tom lives there isn't much we can do about them. That doesn't mean we should give up. I've worked the lines. I've _seen_ the destruction. Sad little faces crying for parents and family who won't return. Grieving mothers. Guilt-stricken fathers desperate enough to do anything, even commit suicide, in order to make the pain vanish." During his little speech he had turned to face the main body of the pub's population, and now he threw up his hands, "Look around you! Look outside! We live in a world of fear and anarchy." His arms dropped to his sides. "In the old days all we had to worry about were the Death Eaters and a few stray shades. Now we have Death Eaters, Deathbusters, Dark Aurors, and the Order of the Mixedbloods to deal with. No one's safe anymore. So is it any wonder that more and more mages are joining cults as a way of banding together against common enemies? Can any one of you blame the parents from all over the world who struggle and fight to get their kids accepted into Hogwarts because it's by far the _safest_ magical school in the world? This is madness! This is no way to live. Yet the high and mighty _Fen_, the strongest of us all, rarely help us out. Sure, the good ones will puppyguard Hogwarts, but they won't go out of their way to be helpful or suppress cults—"

"We're not _Aurors_, Harry." Draco said sharply, "That's your job. And I don't see why you're complaining when every time you and your buddies have gotten in over your heads at least one of us has come to straighten things out. All you have to do is send word."

(( And hope that you're not one of the enemies we're fighting. )) Harry shot telepathically, his unspoken words dripping with venom. Aloud he said "True as that is, it'd be nice if you three would be a little more proactive about getting the bad guys. Willow does to some extent, but from where I'm standing it looks like you and Severus don't even care unless it's inconveniencing you personally."

"I care," Draco insisted, "it's just that the shades tend to vanish whenever I'm around, usually before I even know they're there. The same probably happens to Severus. People aren't as afraid of Willow for some reason."

"And you can't go undercover when you can turn into anything you want?"

For a split-second, Draco's eyes flashed red. He had to fight to keep his glare from becoming _too _hateful. This was a public setting and he couldn't afford to mar his image. "First, I can't turn into _anything _I want. Most of the mythical beasts are still a challenge for me, and getting the hang of turning into other people without the use of polyjuice potion is a lot harder than you'd think, even for Fen. Second, if I _wanted_ to be an Auror, I'd be one." His voice trembled a little under the forced courtesy. (( Third, you had better stop pressuring me, Potter, because we both know what will happen if I'm exposed, and here you are planting suspicion. )) His private tone was much harsher. More like an acidic hiss.

(( I'm not trying to_ expose _you, just warn you that you need to do more to hold up your 'good guy' image. People are starting to talk. The Minister and a few of my friends have already started to suspect that you might be the Deathbusters' Dark Lord. They trust me, but I'm having trouble defending you when you haven't done anything worthy of praise lately. )) Harry had been drinking while he was saying this. When he finished, he said "Yes, but surely someone like you must have some time to spare between grading papers and prowling Hogwarts." Winking at the girls, he added, "I'm sure your fans here would sleep better knowing their Draco was out protecting them."

Mudblood reached out and took Draco's left hand, eyes wide with glee. "Oh we would! We would!" She gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Us purebloods need to stick together!" Red Curls chimed, staring at Draco as if he were some kind of a hero, "You'll protect us from the Mixers, won't you?"

Draco nodded energetically, a slightly-drunken smile blossoming on his face. "Of course. Any Mixer that messes with you girls'll end up a muggle just like that." He snapped his fingers, producing a spray of multi-colored sparks that burned brighter than the live coals of a fire for the brief second they lasted.

The girls swooned.

Harry merely shook his head, a faint frown marring his features. (( She's a pureblood? ))

(( No. But she thinks I'm God, so that's alright. ))

_Poor delusional girls. _Harry thought, finishing off the last of his special pumpkin juice. _They wouldn't be following him around like little lost lambs if they knew the truth about him. _At least Draco's arrogance and desire to show off was working in his favor for now; there was a high probability he'd capture some shades soon, which would help both the Ministry and his image.

Much as Harry loathed having to help Draco keep his dirty little secret, there was no way around it. He and the world had too much to lose, and Azkaban could never hold Draco, assuming they could manage to capture him in the first place.

"Wicked!" Leticia grinned, "I'll feel a lot safer knowing you're out there somewhere striking fear into the hearts of evil-doers!"

_How ironic. _Draco chuckled a bit. "Don't worry, the Slytherin Prince has your back!"

Harry couldn't help himself. "Vying for Tom's title now, are we?"

"Please. Being a direct descendant of Slytherin doesn't make one a Slytherin Prince." Draco waved his hand dismissively, the effects of the alcohol becoming more obvious, "Salazar would be embarrassed. The guy's died twice, once from a baby's forehead reflection, and no amount of power's going to make him a pureblood. And looks! Don't get me started. Sure, he isn't hideous anymore, but even in that resurrected body of his he isn't a Malfoy."

Harry rolled his eyes. "That's actually one of his better qualities."


	3. Bellatrix Sees Red

**A/N: **_I present to you, Chapter 3! If a certain character seems OOC ( and believe me, he will ) don't worry: it's intentional and there's a legitimate reason for it ( which I'll reveal in my other story "A Riddle In Time")._

_Credit for the character design/physical appearance ( but not the personality ) of Rodolphus Lestrange goes to Madcarrot of Deviantart. He is borrowed here with permission. ( Thanks Carrot! You are swell! ) Visit my Author's Bio for a direct link to Carrot's Rodolphus interpretation. I highly recommend viewing the rest of her gallery as well, as she is a wonderfully talented artist with a lot of great Harry Potter fanart. ((smiles))_

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**Chapter 3**

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_**April 21, 2035**_

_**10:40 PM**_

_**Riddle Manor, Scotland**_

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"So. Not to press or anything, oh wondrous leader, because it's entirely your call, but when do you think our next attack will be? Just so I can have an idea." Morton, a wire-thin Death Eater with bulbous eyes and an annoying, sniveling voice asked his Dark Lord.

Halfway across the room, Voldemort didn't move or even look at him. Slumped sideways in his favorite red-velvet overstuffed chair with his shoulders propped against one arm and his legs dangling over the other, he was far too comfortable for that. "Morton, if you're so eager to attack, then attack. You know I let my Death Eaters go on private unannounced missions. So long as you remember to throw up the Dark Mark I really don't care."

"But my Lord, our enemies would kill me if I went alone." Though he was trying to sound respectful, there was a strong undercurrent of fear in Morton's voice.

Voldemort continued to twirl the black rose he held in his fingers. "Probably. If you're stupid enough to do something that would draw their attention."

Morton didn't press the issue any further. He turned and went down the main hall, undoubtedly to find some buddies to chat with. A few snakes slithered across his path on the floor: he took great care to step over these.

All this Bellatrix watched with muted interest.

They were in Riddle Manor, that glorious mansion Voldemort had obtained by killing his father and his father's parents. It was isolated in a particularly dangerous part of the Forbidden Woods. This was not its original location; Voldemort was rather attached to the mansion, but he didn't like where it had been so he simply teleported the whole structure, graveyard and all, to its present spot.

Quite an impressive feat, even for a Phenomenal.

But then, Voldemort was in a league of his own when it came to magic, which was one of the things Bellatrix loved about him.

The mansion itself was both old and old-fashioned, though an unending supply of Reparo spells kept it in tip-top shape. The paint was all fresh, the windows uncracked, and none of the floorboards creaked when they were trod upon. The décor was deliciously gothic and morose with statues, paintings, and knickknacks of crying angels, fierce beasts, deadly serpents, and people in various stages of dying and/or mourning depicted in gloomy colors all over the place. The carpeting in most of the rooms was the color of lightly-rusted garnets, though black and dark green could also be found Most of the walls were a dark chocolate brown. All of the drapery was either black or dark green.

The room Bellatrix and Voldemort currently occupied, the drawing room, was large and spacious with bookshelves lining two walls and plenty of chairs, sofas, and end-tables for guests. At the center of one wall was a magnificent fireplace in which a small fire crackled. Directly across from it, only a few feet away, Voldemort played with his rose. Bellatrix sat in a corner near a window, at the end of a plush sofa.

At the moment, they were the only ones in the room.

Well, the only humans. Multitudes of snakes made themselves at home on the floor and furnishings.

Bellatrix didn't really like them — they were sneaky, cold, and some of them were quite venomous — but they were Voldemort's little pets, and she'd learned to live with them.

Not that she'd had much choice. Being a known Death Eater was extremely dangerous these days, to the point where death or a lifelong imprisonment in the new Azkaban were virtually guaranteed unless one kept close to the Dark Lord at all times. Which was why Voldemort allowed any Death Eater who wanted to live in his mansion with him. The Death Eaters had many powerful enemies — most of which knew about Riddle Manor being a Death Eater hotspot and exactly how to get there. But none of them stood a snowball's chance in Hell against Voldemort, and they knew it. In the eighteen years since it had stood here, Riddle Manor had only been assaulted once, and that had been by the three other Fen. On that occasion Voldemort's minions had been treated to the sight of him almost killing Draco and fighting the other two to a standstill before they grabbed their fallen friend and fled. Needless to say, that had gained Voldemort a lot of extra roomies. Riddle Manor was a Death Eater safehaven.

So long as said Death Eaters were snake-friendly and didn't do anything to upset Voldemort.

Although, as Bellatrix and some of the others had noticed, it was getting a little harder to upset Voldemort these days. Offenses which would have merited a Cruciation or some other painful penalty before now earned only a harsh warning, or even a gentle warning. Failures and mistakes weren't taken as seriously: unless they were monumental Voldemort rarely bothered to bring out the more painful punishments. He seemed much more relaxed. Happier. Even playful.

Bellatrix wasn't sure exactly when the change had taken place, but it was fairly recent — not long after Rich's death. Most of Death Eaters attributed it to Voldemort's being reunited with the other six-sevenths of his soul, but Bellatrix knew better. She'd seen Voldemort with his full soul before, and he'd never acted like _this_.

No, something else was going on.

Something inside the Dark Lord was changing. She didn't know how or why; all she understood were her own mixed feelings on the subject. There was no denying a more lenient Lord Voldemort was less frightening to be around, but at the same time he wasn't nearly as proactive about taking over the wizarding world, and until that happened the Death Eaters had to live in a state of constant fear.

Lately he seemed so…distracted.

"Thinking deep thoughts?" Bellatrix mused, watching Voldemort carefully for any signs of irritance. More lenient or not, it always paid to be cautious.

"Hmm? Not really. Just living in the moment." Voldemort said flippantly. He pressed a thumb into one of the rose's sharp thorns and held it there. Watched his blood trickle down the stem.

He looked so very relaxed. Bellatrix would even go so far as to use the word 'dreamy'. His eyes had that faraway look about them, which was just frigg'in _strange_ since they were red.

_Voldemort on Cloud Nine? I wonder what's got him in such a good mood? _Rather than ask him outright, Bellatrix made a small nod. "Nice to see everything's going to plan."

She was hoping he'd elaborate.

He didn't.

All she got for her efforts was a slow nod and small smile. Voldemort didn't even dignify her with a glance of acknowledgement. He just laid there, bleeding a small river which ultimately ended up on his shirt, staring straight ahead at the bookshelf.

Or, more accurately, _through_ the bookshelf. Like it wasn't even there. A large green snake that slithered up his chair and across his belly unto his knees and legs was completely ignored.

_He's in his own little world. _Bellatrix sighed inwardly, dismayed.

If only she could get him talking, he might see how much they had in common. See that they _belonged _together, not just as Lord and servant, but as lovers.

But the path to Voldemort's heart was shrouded in darkness and mystery. For years Bellatrix had been his most loyal Death Eater. She'd killed for him, tortured for him, went on every dangerous mission, and she'd done it all with a song in her heart. She'd even went to Azkaban for him at a time when all other Death Eaters were denying any form of connection to him.

Throughout everything, her sole purpose had been only to please him. Surely he must see that. Ruling at his side came as a big bonus, but it was not a lust for power alone which fueled her desire.

She loved him.

Really, she did.

She wanted to be his mate, and bear his children, and do everything with him.

Rodolphus was unimportant — she'd drop him in an instant for Voldemort, and she made sure Voldemort knew this.

In fact her hints had been so blunt and obvious even Rodolphus knew this, but she didn't care. Rodolphus had always been the consolation prize. The only reason she'd ever married him in the first place was to fill the void she'd had in her life at the time, and to shut him up. Voldemort was the only one who mattered.

The problem was, no matter how much she did for him, it was never enough. Sure, he'd flash her a smile here and there, give her privileges denied to other Death Eaters, or even the occasional word of praise. But it never went any further than that. When she tried to flirt with him he pretty much ignored her — once or twice he'd even snapped at her. She didn't know why.

It couldn't be her looks: like him she was an immortal, frozen forever as a young adult. Her long, glossy black hair shone with health. Her face was smooth and fair, its structure nicely showcasing her fine pureblood lineage. While her body wasn't the thinnest to be found, it was supple, full-figured, and a far cry from obese. She paid careful attention to her appearance and dressed only in clothes that flattered. Indeed, the only reminder of her lengthy stay in Azkaban were her wild dark eyes, which she had been told had an insane light to them. Ambrosia had halted all the rest; the god that had sought to punish her by prolonging her stay in horrible, wretched Azkaban had only helped her in the end.

But in spite of her beauty, devotion, and superior bloodlines, Lord Voldemort continued to see her as no more than a minion.

This was an image she was determined to shift if it took her an eternity to do it. Voldemort couldn't ignore her forever — all she had to do was persevere and keep proving her love to him. Unless he was under some sort of spell that made him have absolutely no sexual desire, he'd come around sooner or later.

Footsteps sounded through the corridor. Bellatrix didn't see who it was until he passed around the corner and came into full view.

_Rodolphus._

Yes, Rodolphus, her husband. He'd received ambrosia at the same time she had, which was why he appeared to be around twenty-five, and from the way he acted it was hard to believe he was any older. He was handsome enough in his own right — tall and very thin — with an extremely expressionful face and an impeccable taste in old Victorian fashion.

These traits, however, didn't grab nearly as much attention as his other physical attributes, and were almost never noticed first.

Rodolphus was special in the respect that, no matter who he was with, he stood out like a nudist.

For one thing his hair was an unnatural deep, cherry-red, smooth as silk, and so long the ends of it reached his knees.

One of his eyes was normal and green — the other a clouded, milky white with a faded gray pupil. This was the result of a cutting curse which had struck him decades ago. The Auror responsible had since been killed, but by a Deathbuster, a fact which incensed the revenge-hungry Rodolphus greatly.

Beneath the outer corner of each eye ran a thick, black line of mascara which curved slightly inward in its trip halfway down his cheek. As if that weren't enough, Rodolphus's long, black fingernails were sharpened to points, and he'd also used magic to sharpen his canine teeth, giving the impression that he was part vampire, a misconception which he deliberately helped foster for the shock and fear factors.

Apparently, the only thing scarier than a Death Eater was a _vampire _Death Eater. Nevermind the fact that Rodolphus never actually drank blood — well, okay, he had twice, but it was his own blood, and purely for publicity — or shared any of a vampire's strengths and weaknesses.

Bellatrix had to give him credit though; he had half the wizarding world believing that he really _was_ part vampire somehow, and judging by outward appearances alone he had every other Death Eater licked in terms of looking dangerous, even Voldemort with his sometimes-glowing red eyes.

Rodolphus stopped when he crossed the threshold into the room. Flashed Bellatrix a toothy smile before aiming a curt bow in Voldemort's direction. "Good evening, My Lord."

Voldemort glanced at him briefly before returning his attention back to his rose. "Evening Rodolphus." he said softly, pulling his thumb from the thorn and holding it over the blossom. Drops of blood splattered on the petals.

_That's __**so**__ sexy. _Bellatrix licked her lips just watching.

Voldemort had a wonderfully twisted idea of romance. He delighted in both giving pain and receiving it — truly the best of both worlds — and she couldn't wait for her chance to make him squeal in sinful pleasure.

_I'll take kinkiness to heights he's never even dreamed of. _She purred inwardly, clutching the arm of the sofa, digging her sharp fingernails into the soft fabric. _When he lets me._

Voldemort looked her way.

Here was her chance!

Bellatrix whipped up a devilish half-smile on the spot and tilted her head at a seductive angle, trying her damndest for the 'naughty' look.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow.

Yes!

She had his attention!

Would he take the bait? Was tonight the lucky night she'd been waiting for?

(( Bellatrix, your husband is standing right here. )) Voldemort's words pierced her thoughts. He sounded mildly amused.

Bellatrix's eyes darted to Rodolphus, who was staring at her in a rather sad, kicked-puppy fashion.

_So? What does it matter if he's upset, he can't take it out on __**us**__. You know I'd have no qualms with cheating. He's excrement next to you, and you know I'll do anything you ask. Anything you…desire. _Since she couldn't communicate telepathically she simply _thought_ her response.

Voldemort could hear thoughts whenever he wished, provided they weren't magically shielded and the person was in close enough proximity. This was one of his more unique abilities — the other Fen could only hear thoughts if they were loud, or not at all.

(( I know. But Rodolphus is one of my best Death Eaters, and he'll serve me better non-depressed. Don't flirt with me when he's around. In fact, don't flirt with me at all. This is the only warning you're going to get. Next time I'll just blast you. ))

Bellatrix's smile evaporated. _Understood My Lord._

It was a real struggle to suppress the other thoughts which threatened to burst into her mind right then, thoughts certain to put Voldemort in a much less forgiving mood.

"Are you okay?" Rodolphus asked, genuinely concerned.

Bellatrix sighed. "Right as rain."

A snake brushed against her arm. She bumped it aside. It was becoming too great a challenge to keep her thoughts positive — she had to leave this room before Voldemort read her like a book.

She was just about to get up when a 'crack' disrupted the quiet of the room, and a woman she never would have expected appeared: Wicca Malfoy.

_What the hell is__** she **__doing here? _Bellatrix was so surprised she forgot all about getting up.

Wicca was Voldemort's ex from eighteen years ago. The relationship had ended violently when she had become pregnant, and the two had been on bad terms ever since. Probably all the more so now that Voldemort had finally killed their son.

"Wicca!" Voldemort sprang up in a flash, eyes sparkling with joy.

Wicca lunged forward and threw her arms around him, covering his face in wild, wet kisses.

_What. The. __**Hell**__. Is this? _Reality shattered into a million pieces before Bellatrix's eyes.

Something was wrong.

Something was _colossally _wrong.

Voldemort embraced Wicca as though he'd never been angry with her and treated her to a deep, passionate kiss.

The rose lay bloodied on the floor. A black mamba slithered over to it, tasting the red liquid with its tongue.

The world fell apart. Shattered over and over. Every time a coherent thought tried to make its way to Bellatrix's mind it was torn apart. Ripped. Ravaged.

She was _not_ seeing this. How _could_ she be seeing this? This defied all reason. This had to be some kind of an illusion, a spell…

"Did you tell them yet?" Wicca asked excitedly, rubbing cheeks with Voldemort.

Voldemort offered her a toothless smile and pushed her back with a gentle shove. "No. I'll let you do the honors."

Wicca turned to Bellatrix and Rodolphus, looking for all the world like a woman who had just gotten everything her heart desired, and then some. "Tom and I are getting married!"

At first Bellatrix didn't register. The words ran in tireless circles through her mind like the incantation to a hideous curse. She felt her breath catch. Felt her muscles stiffen. Was vaguely aware of Rodolphus saying "Congratulations!" from somewhere in the background.

Such a strange sensation. It was like she was there, but she wasn't really _there_. Like she was an observer watching her body and the events unfold from somewhere near the ceiling.

Then her survival instinct kicked in. She had better say something. Fast.

"Congratulations." she managed, though it came out a little less convincing than she would have liked.

Thankfully, neither Voldemort nor Wicca appeared to notice.

"Who are you going to get to marry you?" Rodolphus inquired, sounding generally happy with the news.

_But of course he would be. Now that he knows my chances with Voldemort are ruined. Happy, happy Rodolphus. He'll celebrate. _Bellatrix turned her murderous sights on her husband and felt her blood boil. Safer to focus on him when she was feeling this way.

"I'm going to marry us myself." Voldemort explained, "Not that I'd have trouble finding a preacher if I so desired, but this is going to be a very special ceremony."

Wicca nodded eagerly. "One you won't want to miss."

_Oh, I would not be so sure of that…_

Voldemort reached out and grabbed a lock of his fiancé's strawberry-blonde hair, sifting it between his fingers. He had never seemed so happy.

Bellatrix drove her fingernails deeply into the furniture. The sofa bled fluffy white stuffing.

Then, without warning, Wicca launched herself fully into Voldemort, bowling him over into his chair at the same sideways position he'd been in before. Her open palms slammed against his chest, pinning his back to the armrest. He made no resistance as she straddled him, her long skirt spilling over his belly, her bare legs pressing into his sides. Bringing a hand to his forehead, she lovingly brushed a few wisps of shiny black hair to one side of his face.

Voldemort's smile deepened.

"Speaking of the wedding, there's a few people I'd like to invite. I know you don't like my parents, but — "

"Yes Wicca, let's invite the other Fen so they can all gang up and attack me." Voldemort said sarcastically, "What the hell, invite Harry too. I'm sure he'd _love_ to spend a few hours surrounded by me, Draco, and Severus. We're good buddies, we are."

Wicca caressed his cheek with her fingertips. "How about just my mom?"

"She wouldn't come alone. She doesn't trust me, and with good reason."

"My brother?"

"Your brother's an _Auror_. An Auror with Semi-Fen powers."

Rodolphus shivered. "That he is." He went over and sat next to Bellatrix, who barely noticed. She was so wrapped up in watching the scene of disaster taking place before her very eyes that he could have sprouted glittery pink fairy wings and she wouldn't have noticed.

Or cared.

"Oh, come on." Wicca pleaded, ignoring Rodolphus, "He'll behave. He's not stupid enough to try anything with _you _there."

Voldemort shut his eyes and let out a soft sigh.

A sigh that made Bellatrix sick to the very core of her being. _You idiot! He killed your son!_ She wanted to shout.

She couldn't, of course. Such an action was not likely to sit well with Voldemort. But the words were there, at the tip of her tongue. It was hard to bite them back. So hard…

"Yes, but your brother has some very bitter enemies here. Some of them might be hungry enough for revenge not to care about consequences. If a fight broke out…"

"You'd easily be able to stop it."

"Yes, but not before it ruined our day." Voldemort's eyes snapped open. He took Wicca's hand in his. "No Aurors. Period. It'll make everything run so much smoother."

Wicca's face fell a little, but she seemed to understand. A moment of silence slipped by before she said "Neville?"

Voldemort blinked. "Longbottom?"

"Yeah. He's a nice old man. And funny! He used to babysit Drake and I when we were kids. I still go to him whenever I need a friendly ear. It would mean a lot to me if he could be there."

Voldemort chuckled. A genuine in-mirth chuckle as opposed to the cold, sinister variety.

Bellatrix's mouth hung open an inch or two with shock. She'd known Voldemort for nearly fifty years; he'd never laughed like that before.

Hell, he'd never been so good-natured about someone knocking him over before.

"Tell you what: if you can convince him to come, your friend Neville is welcome." Voldemort tossed his left hand over the front of the chair. The fallen rose levitated off the ground and flew into it with the force of a rubber band that had been stretched nearly to breaking point and then let go. Without so much as flinching, he wrapped his fingers around the stem tightly, as if to choke it.

"Really?" Wicca asked in a tone of excitement, as though she'd been half expecting him to say no, "He'll have your protection, right? I mean, just while he's there?"

"Of course. You didn't think I would let you invite him just to have him tortured and killed during the ceremony, did you?" Thin lines of blood began to trickle from out between his fingers like miniature waterfalls.

Wicca's smile was full of relief. "Just making sure."

"Longbottoms? Oh I remember them, don't you Bellatrix?" Rodolphus laughed, nudging his wife in the side with his elbow. "Remember Frank and Alice?"

"Yes." Bellatrix almost snarled, clamping the urge to lash out with her wand and hit her 'dear' husband with Depulso, which would send him flying clean off the sofa.

It wasn't that she hadn't enjoyed helping to torture Neville's parents. She had. Immensely. But right now Frank and Alice were the last thing on her mind, and Rodolphus was grating her nerves more than he realized by bringing them up. Like Voldemort's marrying Wicca was really going to erase the feelings she had for him, or make Rodolphus any more appealing.

Not wanting to risk Voldemort's attention, she turned her face to the side, hiding her molten glare in the curtains. It would not do for her Dark Lord to see her like this, oh no.

_Can'tshowitcan'tshowitcan'tshowit…_

Her heart pounded fiercely in her chest.

She was going to explode!

She was going to burst any minute!

She had to get up, or disapparate —

— no! They would see her! And Voldemort would be offended if she simply vanished, not that she probably could anyway the way she was feeling right now…

"I know how much you two love torturing Longbottoms." Voldemort said cheerfully. His voice darkened. "But if you start in on that at my wedding — at which, by the way, your presence will be mandatory — I will Cruciate you until your eyes bleed out of their sockets."

"Don't worry!" Rodolphus said instantly, and even without looking Bellatrix knew his face was the picture of fright, "Consider me Longbottom-safe!"

Bellatrix took a deep breath. "Your instructions are clear, My Lord."

So that she would look as though she had nothing to hide, she pulled her face from the drapery and pretended to be deeply interested in a pair of mating rattlesnakes. _He knows how I feel about him, so he'll expect me to be upset. But I can't let him know how far it goes…crap! He can read my mind! Have to think of something else fast! These snakes are pretty. Pretty colors, pretty teeth, pretty lusty…._

"Good. Spread the word."

Voldemort didn't sound upset. That was a good sign. Bellatrix found the nerve to take her eyes off the snakes.

When she did, she wished she hadn't.

Wicca was practically laying on Voldemort now: her arms were on either side of his body, and their faces were so close they were almost touching noses.

Voldemort seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself. He brought his bloody fist up over the top of his fiancé's head and, opening it, stroked her hair. The rose was embedded firmly in his palm. It quivered a little with each pass through Wicca's hair, but she either didn't notice or didn't care that her locks were becoming a more uniform red.

"Speaking of the wedding, we still have to decide on a last name."

Voldemort frowned. "What's wrong with Voldemort?"

_Such a good question. _Bellatrix couldn't help wondering if perhaps the killing curse he'd thrown at baby Harry wasn't the only spell of his that had backfired.

Wicca gave him a don't-be-silly look. "Think — do you really want to be known as Lord Voldemort Voldemort? Or even Voldemort Voldemort? Either way it's going to sound strange."

"What would you care? You never call me that anyway."

"That's because there's nothing wrong with 'Tom'— "

Voldemort grimaced.

" — and, no offense, but as far as names go 'Voldemort' isn't all that pretty. It really doesn't fit a man as handsome as you."

"Whereas 'Tom' conjures the image of a regular beauty god."

Wicca gave him an Eskimo kiss. "It does to me."

A smile found its way back to Voldemort's lips. Drawing in his hand, he finally plucked the rose out of it. Tossed it to the floor where a snake bit it. "Alright. I'm not crazy about 'Malfoy' being as how your father, grandfather, and great-grandfather were all minions of mine, and not one of them was worth a rat's arse, but it'll do. At least it's the name of a pureblooded line." He paused, thoughtful. "Although, 'Gaunt' was too…"

_So's Black. _Bellatrix added silently.

This was so far beyond ridiculous it fell into a class of its own. Not only was Voldemort letting this young woman, this immortal _great niece _of Bellatrix's get away with a hundred words and acts which would have already have earned anyone else a painful death, now he was willing to be a _Malfoy_ for her? Absurd!

Something was seriously, seriously wrong with him.

Wicca, too, since she seemed not to care about her dead son.

Or the fact that Voldemort had killed him.

Or the fact that she didn't believe in torture and murder while Voldemort most certainly did.

Bellatrix's mind raced for an answer — something, _anything_ to make sense of this madness.

_A love potion, perhaps?_

No. Voldemort was clever enough to see right through that.

_A love __**spell**__? _

Impossible. Wicca wasn't powerful enough to pull it off.

"How about Riddle?" Wicca purred.

Voldemort's red eyes flashed at the suggestion. "NO." he said flatly, leaving no room for argument.

Wicca tried anyway. "Why not? It's beautiful and mysterious."

Anyone else would have been hit with Crucioburn on the spot. Made to endure unimaginable pain for daring to ask 'why' and then inserting her own opinion. Not Wicca. Not Little Miss Perfect. Though he was clearly perturbed, Voldemort did no more than frown at her. "It's neither, and I will _not_ degrade myself by using it again. Tom Riddle was the name of my filthy muggle father. I hated him. I hated his whole family. They were nothing but pigs, and when I slaughtered them I took such sweet, sweet joy in it. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Does that frighten you, Wicca? Do you still want to marry me?"

Bellatrix perked up. _No! Say no! Run away from him! Show disgust!_ Her heart began to flutter.

There was still a chance!

Maybe…

Wicca jerked her head back a few inches. Still, she didn't seem that upset. "Well, I think that was a bit harsh, but I honestly can't say it surprises me. I've always known that you aren't a Saint, Tom. I know just about every grisly detail of every heinous crime you've committed. I know you're a sadist. You've tried to kill my entire family at some point — including me and Rich — and I still came back to you, didn't I? I love you. I don't think you're the most evil person in the world, but even if you were I'd still love you." She planted a kiss on his forehead. "Get used to it, because you'll have to kill me to get rid of me."

_Damn you! _The boiling blood in Bellatrix's veins turned to lava. Only with a staggering amount of self-control was she able to refrain from whipping out her wand and Avada-ing this self-righteous bitch on the spot, an action that would be as fatal to her as Wicca.

_If not only to you. _The faint voice of logic argued, _Voldemort doesn't even need a wand to throw a killing curse, or to say the words. And you know perfectly well what would happen, so don't be stupid._

For a moment, Voldemort appeared as though he didn't know how to react: his mouth hung open slightly, his expression equal parts confusion and astonishment. Even his red eyes seemed to lose their ferocity. Then his mouth settled into a shallow smile. "If I didn't know any better I'd think you were lying."

"If you have any doubts, use some of that legilimency you're famous for. I meant every word."

Voldemort frowned, but not out of anger. For just the fleeting flash of a moment, Bellatrix swore she saw a sadness in his eyes. "I know." he said softly.

_What a conniving little bitch! She's even worse than her holier-than-thou son, and if the two of them weren't in on this together I'll turn myself into Azkaban._

Yes, a collaboration between mother and son — that had to be it! Rich would've had the power and the desire to help his mother out; working together they probably cast a love spell on Voldemort.

_Or maybe something to alter his personality..._

A love spell would explain Voldemort's suddenly fluffy-warm feelings towards Wicca, but nothing else. It wouldn't make him more lenient towards his minions in general, or more relaxed, or playful. It certainly couldn't account for his new sense of humor; he'd already frightened a few Death Eaters with sarcasm, an element in which he'd been completely lacking before.

Wicca smiled and pressed his hand into her cheek, nuzzling it. "Just…think about it, okay? Don't think of it as being your father's name. Think of it as a new lease on life. There are already enough Malfoys, and anyway it fits you. That first night I saw you out in the woods, you were a beautiful riddle to me. 'Course I didn't know you only had one-seventh of a soul at the time, but I don't regret falling for you. Remember Ghost Pond?"

Voldemort gazed at her wistfully. "Yes. Definitely one of the highlights of my life. Of course, fool I was back then, I didn't see it at the time." He sighed. "I took a lot for granted."

Wicca dropped his hand. "You're still my beautiful riddle."

"And you're still gorgeous as ever. You _have_ gotten more disrespectful though."

Wicca grinned. "So punish me." Then she stopped, her expression changing swiftly. "Oh wait! I forgot! You can't — not until after our child is born."

_WHAT?_

The sparks of hatred dancing in Bellatrix's eyes blazed into roaring flames.

She couldn't help it.

She _had_ to be sure she'd heard right. If Voldemort read her mind and killed her then so be it.

"Come again?" she asked, framing the question casually, as if she were merely curious.

Wicca looked at her and blinked like an owl caught in Lumos. Quickly, she turned back to Voldemort. "Oh! We didn't tell them, did we?"

Voldemort shook his head. "No. We were going to save that announcement for the wedding, remember?"

"We can tell just them. Have 'em keep it secret." Wicca didn't give Voldemort the chance to utter a word before she was spilling it out, her face flush with excitement "I'm pregnant!"

"Congratulations!" Rodolphus beamed, sounding far, far too happy, "To both of you! Really, that's some wonderful news."

"I know! You and Bellatrix are going to be a great-great uncle and great-great aunt again! Only this time Tom and I are going to raise him, so you two can be like — I don't know, his godparents or something."

_GODPARENTS? _Bellatrix silently screamed, the sad little remnants of her world crumbling to ash in her tightly-clenched fists.

She would never have Voldemort now. Not as long as he had Wicca and their child.

It wasn't fair!

It wasn't right!

If only that damn Wicca were dead….

She had to get out of here. Right now.

Thankfully luck was on her side — at least for the moment. At the exact instant she got up Wicca grabbed Voldemort playfully around the torso and, using her feet against the chair for leverage, flipped him unto the floor, where she fell upon him in the same position as before. The snakes slithered hurriedly from the source of the vibration, lest their master crush them.

Glad for the distraction Bellatrix tore out of the room as quickly as possible, taking the corridor.

It was too much.

Way too much.

Rodolphus must have been following her, because she hadn't reached the bend in the hall before she heard Voldemort ask "Where's she going?" to which Rodolphus responded "Um…piss break?" in a feeble but much nearer voice.

Her mind twisted with rage, Bellatrix didn't look back.

She'd seen enough.


	4. Teeth of the Dragon

**Chapter 4**

* * *

_**April 21, 2035**_

_**11:03 PM**_

_**Riddle Manor, Scotland**_

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Once she was sure, dead sure, she was out of Voldemort's range, Bellatrix's stride took on a heavier, almost-stomping quality, and her already unpleasant expression settled into a snarl that made some of the Death Eaters she passed in the halls jerk back in surprise. Seething, the rejected witch at last reached the door to hers and Rodolphus's own private quarters and threw it open. Without a moment's hesitation she pointed her wand at the antique queen-size bed. "REDUCTO!"

A bolt of energy flashed from her wand and the bed exploded into kindling, feathers, and shredded fabric.

But Bellatrix's thirst for vengeance was nowhere near satisfied. She wanted to Cruciate someone _badly_ right now, and it barely mattered who_. If only I could cast Blackburn…or Crucioburn!_

Oh, that would be a dream come true! Blackburn was possibly the blackest of black magic, more painful than Crucio, and had the added benefit of targeting one area of the body and keeping it in mind-altering, terrible pain for weeks on end. When it was finally cured or wore off, the flesh of the afflicted area was forever black and charred, sensitive to even the mildest increases in temperature. Crucioburn was the curse Voldemort himself had invented by combining Crucio and Blackburn: the very best in both worlds of torture. The pain and suffering caused by Crucioburn was impossible to describe in words because there simply weren't any strong enough to convey the sheer torture, the pure agonizing hell it put its victims through. Draco had said it had made Crucio feel like being in a comfy bed with a warm cup of cocoa, and the wizarding world had only his word to go on, as he was the only one who had ever survived it. Even then it had put him in a coma for four days — a coma from which he almost hadn't awoken even _with _constant care and the most powerful healing magics available.

How fun it would be to use those on Wicca! Bellatrix would laugh with wicked delight as she screamed in rapturous agony, her eyes dripping gore as they quivered in their sockets, her face twisted with the personification of hurt, her body convulsing on the floor and covered in a merciless black cloud of magic ripping and searing her oh-too-perfect skin. Then she would use that handy cutting hex to rip deep into the bitch's body, eviscerating her as quickly as she could while she still lived. Her excitement would soar into mania as she tore into those strawberry-blonde locks dear Voldemort loved so much, tearing them up violently in patches by the roots.

Would Wicca plead? Would she rue the day she'd ever laid eyes on Lord Voldemort, _Bellatrix's_ Lord Voldemort?

No, no. She'd be in far too much pain to form coherent thought.

Spasming muscles. Quivering, bloody flesh.

Lovely.

Beautiful.

Worthy of a portrait. Worthy of her love to Voldemort.

_If only you didn't have to be a damn Phenomenal to cast magic of that level, and if only Voldemort wouldn't mind._

"Bellatrix?"

Drunk with rage and visions of torture, the black-haired witch whirled, her wand leveled firmly at…Rodolphus.

Rodolphus drew back immediately, startled. His slender hand dipped for his wand. "Bloody hell, Bellatrix, it's just me. No need to get…" his one good eye studied her wand, "excitable." He quickly shut the door behind him.

"Excitable?" Bellatrix spat, fighting to keep her voice below a roar, "_Excitable_! I've just been permanently rejected by the only one I will ever — _could ever _— love because of some stupid halfblood with the bloodlust of a fucking dwarf hamster and you have the nerve to tell me not to get _excitable_? Do you know what this means?"

Rodolphus's wand was in his hand now, and he kept it lowered to his side as he pressed his back against the deliciously red wall and slunk sideways, the whole while keeping his line of sight fixed firmly on Bellatrix's wand as if he expected her to lash out and Cruciate him at the bat of an eye. "Yes. It means that we'll have a royal opportunity to impress the Dark Lord with our superb baby-sitting and mentoring skills once the child is born. And — better yet — we'll have a shot at forming a really close bond with this child when it's young and impressionable. How strong magically do you suppose a child mothered by the daughter of Willow and Draco and sired by the Dark Lord himself will be? Bella…Rich was a do-gooder with marvelously impressive defenses, but if he _had_ cared to toss a curse…imagine! Imagine being friends with someone with that kind of power! Someone who protected us because he truly cared about us, not just to preserve a useful tool."

Bellatrix stamped her foot. The vibration sent three or four tiny snakelings slithering for cover. "You're missing the point, you stupid git!" Checking her voice, she whispered icily, "That child should have been _mine! _After all the work I've done for him, after all the bull I've had to wade through for…how many years? Sixty? Seventy? Doesn't matter. I'm his most loyal Death Eater, his most willing companion. And unlike that bint in the living room I can actually manage to summon up enough ill-will to do unforgivables. Wicca doesn't even know the first thing about dark magic!"

"But he's made his choice abundantly clear, and there's nothing we can do about it. We might as well get used to the idea, because at his worst he'll torture us to death slowly for harboring ill will against his family and at his best he'll banish us from Riddle Manor, leaving us to fend off Willow, Aurors, Dark Aurors, Deathbusters, and Mixers by _ourselves_. We're good, but we're not _that_ good." Rodolphus's voice was soft, almost pleading. "If you know what's good for you you'll just accept fate and make the best of it. And…as much as I'm starting to regret this, I _am_ your husband. If it's a child you want I can give you one. We can raise it up with To—I mean, Lord Voldemort's child. And when he finally takes over, we'll be practically like royalty ourselves!"

Bellatrix opened her mouth to tell Rodolphus that that was _not_ good enough, then, deciding against it, closed it again. She _had_ to get this temper of hers under control or she risked losing what little she already had. While he couldn't legally divorce her ( or do anything else legally, for that matter ), marriage was not an all-powerful binding spell forcing two individuals to stay together or even care about one another. Rodolphus could just as easily find someone else. And as the number of people who cared about her shrunk, so would her protection.

Ever-so-slightly, the muscles in her fingers relaxed. She finally lowered her wand.

Rodolphus pointed his at the destroyed bed. "Reparo." The furniture flew back together in a snap, perfectly resuming its former glory.

The door whooshed open and both Lestranges whirled, wands ready.

Just as quickly they lowered them. It was only Alexia Sutters, fellow "exposed" Death Eater and one of Bellatrix's friends.

"Yeesh, jumpy there, are we? Relax. It's not like just anyone is able to waltz in here." Alexia's voice had a bit of an insane giggle to it. Unlike the Lestranges, she hadn't received ambrosia in Azkaban and looked every bit of her age — 45 years — and then some. Her once shining waist-length gold hair was always frayed and matted, her formerly soft features as cold and sharp as if she were made of marble and someone had taken a chisel to her face, cutting every line deep. Cold and worn lapis lazuli would have made a fine substitute for eyes that once seemed to sparkle with a magic all their own. Her body was thin to the point of being anorexic, and her clothes and silver Death Eater robes hung off her. Bellatrix always thought she seemed so frail that a simple gust of wind could knock her over, but Alexia had somehow managed to survive mostly-intact for this long at least. Must have been a combination of skill, utter ruthlessness, and luck.

Bellatrix frowned. "True, but I am _not_ in a good mood."

Alexia nodded and walked between the two and over to the bed. Dropping onto it, she pointed her wand at the door and shut it with a quiet Depulso. "I know." she said, crossing her legs, "I overheard you in the corridor."

Rodolphus panicked. "You didn't tell anyone, did you? Because Bella and I weren't supposed to tell anyone and if Voldemort finds out he'll Crucioburn us straight through Hell and into oblivion!"

Alexia waved her hand casually. "Relax. I'm not going to rat on you — I'm not Pettigrew after all — and right now Voldemort's so caught up with Wicca I doubt he'd notice if the manor began to collapse in around him. He's in a very, _very_ good mood right now."

"We've noticed." Bellatrix grumbled, straightening her clothing, "That little bitch is ruining my life. I tell you, right now nothing would give me greater pleasure than to Cruciate the living daylights out of someone. Oh, I could do so much more than that! The way I'm feeling right now, I could face down seven Aurors and soak the earth with their guts. Make it eight! There just isn't a vulgar word strong enough to sum up just how incredibly pissed I am right now."

"Then why don't you join Bernard, Randolph, and I on a mission tonight? You can come too if you like, Roddy. Bernard found out where a pair of Deathbusters live. Brothers, I think. We can torture them and their whole family to our hearts' content!"

For the first time since being blown off that evening, a shallow smile blossomed on Bellatrix's face. _Yes! This is getting better…I can pretend they're all Wicca!_

She chuckled: a scary, shrieking laugh. "Yes! And that would be worthy of the Dark Lord's praise…Deathbusters put up a better fight than Aurors. The more we kill, the more Voldemort will favor us over his spineless servants…think! We may even capture their Dark Lord!"

Now Rodolphus was smiling gleefully, the tips of his ivory-white vampiric "fangs" glistening beneath his upper lip. "That would be something indeed!" Then, almost as quickly, his smirk faded. "Assuming we can find out who it is. They're rather secretive, that lot. And the Aurors don't seem to be very good at taking them alive. Well, the ones that try to, anyway."

"Piss on their Dark Lord." Alexia said rather matter-of-factly, running a hand down her tangled hair, "If we find him, great, if not, no big deal. I'm more interested in these brothers. It's someone to throw nasty spells at, and best of all, if Aurors _do_ show up they'll be just as much the Deathbusters' enemies as ours."

Bellatrix gave her wand a hearty twist. She was practically brimming with anticipation, barely able to keep still. "Count me in."

"Me too!" Rodolphus chimed, "I'm always ready to kill people!"

"Excellent." Alexia purred, getting up off the bed, "Let's gather the others, shall we?"

_Sure_, Bellatrix thought as she made for the corridor, _and while we're at it you can break down and take a shower for Voldemort 's sake. You live in a fully-functional mansion now, complete with access to soap and hot water. There really is no excuse for blasting hygiene out the window and walking around like a filthy inferi._

**X-x-X-x-X-x-X**

**X-x-X-x-X-x-X**

Once they were all properly cloaked, masked, and assembled in a spare room Alexia laid out the plan in crystal-clear terms: they were going to Number 42 Rosebalm Street. The house they were looking for was big, green, and decorated with gargoyles. Once they found it they would make a swift, silent entry and get in as much torturing and killing as they could before any serious threats arrived. The bodies of the Deathbusters and any Aurors they killed would be taken back to Lord Voldemort as proof.

It was such a clean-cut, simple plan, and everyone couldn't wait to get started, especially Bellatrix. Tonight she would taste blood, and she didn't care whose. Unbridled rage was in her heart and tearing at the seams.

They apparated as a group.

Rosebalm Street was quiet, tranquil. A gentle rain misted down from an overcast nighttime sky. It was a trifle nippy out, and Bellatrix pulled her Death Eater cloak closer around her neck. The only light came from a waxing moon partially obscured by clouds and a few lit-up windows scattered here and there. No-one was out.

_Let's do this. _Bellatrix surged to the front of the group as though she were made to lead and ran through someone's yard and behind their house, the others hot on her heels. Keeping to the darkness, they traveled as silently as Death itself, trying to pick their target from among the many dark and unmemorable houses they passed.

After a block or two they came across a large green one with gargoyles perched on the corners of the roof.

Bellatrix halted in her tracks. Was this it?

Turning to the others, she gestured with her hand for someone to dash around front and check the number.

No-one moved. Four gleaming white skull masks stared back at her blankly.

Annoyed, Bellatrix used her free arm and pointed energetically to the front of the house. _Telepathy would really come in handy now. _She thought with chagrin, _Must be nice enough to have enough magical power to actually _use _it. And to think the Fen and Semi-Fen take it for granted every_ _day._

One of the Death Eaters — Bernard from the size of him — got the picture and raced around to the front.

Another cloaked figure sidled up next to Bellatrix. "If Alohomora doesn't work, Reducto will." She breathed quietly, as if Bellatrix were too stupid t figure that out for herself.

_What does she take me for, an imbecile?_ Rather than waste energy with someone so far below her, Bellatrix merely nodded and waited for the signal.

She didn't have long to wait.

Half a minute after he'd gone to investigate, Bernard reappeared around the corner of the house and quickly Lumosed, then dounced, his wand.

This was it. They were ready.

Bellatrix charged the back door, was aware of Alexia and Rodolphus right behind her. Randolph shot off to join Bernard in a frontal assault — they'd rush the enemy from both sides.

"Alohomora." Bellatrix commanded, training her wand steadily on the lock. A burst of yellowish energy shot out and connected briefly with it, but when she tried the door it held fast. _Smart. But not smart enough. _Taking a few steps back, she tried Plan B. "Reducto!"

The door burst apart into a mess of ripped wood and splinters.

There went the element of surprise. They were going to have to be fast.

Bellatrix smashed through the sad remnants of the door headfirst like a charging bull. She heard a ruckus…people getting up…the front door blowing to smithereens.

Then…light! The whole room was flooded with it. Apparently, someone had performed the charm to light the entire household at once.

_All the better to see you by. _Bellatrix cackled inwardly. She saw a white and gray cat dash out from under a chair. "Avada Kedavra!"

The creature dropped dead to the floor the instant the green curse touched it, its small body still stretched in a running position.

"Honestly, a _cat_?" Rodolphus scoffed from somewhere off to the side.

Bellatrix ignored him. "Reducto!" She smashed the first door to her left to pieces, and was delighted to hear a sharp cry of pain from the other side. "Crucio! CRUCIO!" She tore into the room chasing the brilliant red streaks that left her wand.

The person on the other side never stood a chance. Bellatrix entered to see a forty-something year-old woman dressed in night robes and slippers writhing on the floor in agony. Large spikes of splintered wood lay all around her: some were even protruding from her clothes and flesh. Splatters of blood covered the floor and debris.

"Please! Mercy!" the woman shrieked once she was able.

Laughing, Bellatrix fixed her with her wand. "Depulso!"

The woman went crashing into the side of her own bed and nightstand; her head struck a sharp corner with a sickening crack.

"Sorry love, but I don't care for mudbloods. Silencio!"

The woman's howls of pain were cut short by the spell.

"Ava — "

"Stupefy!" Bellatrix had pivoted in a flash, catching her would-be killer square in the chest with the red bolt.

The victim, a young male around the age of twenty with short dark-brown hair, dropped like a sack of bricks in the threshold, completely unconscious. _Thank God that killing curse takes some time to say._

Now that he was unable to defend himself, she walked over to him and grabbed his right arm, yanking it up savagely. Ripping his long sleeve down she found what she was looking for: the image of a roaring, proud green dragon perched defiantly on his arm, flapping its wings occasionally as it moved its head. It seemed to notice Bellatrix and made biting motions in her general direction.

"Yes!" she hollered over the noise of battle, " I got one!"

"Great!" Rodolphus rushed over and was standing over the man's head in an instant, fidgeting with excitement. "We should take him alive — he may be able to tell Voldemort where more Deathbusters are. Even the identity of their Dark Lord!"

"We can take the other one." Bellatrix groused, eyes scanning the room beyond Rodolphus quickly for danger before returning to the fallen Deathbuster. She pointed her wand at him. "Avada Kedavra!" A green jet shot out of the tip and hit his face. He stopped breathing.

_That felt good. _Beaming, Bellatrix stepped over the body and into the living room. The mudblood in the other room wasn't moving or making any noises, so she figured she had to be dead. Glancing into the kitchen she saw the limp figure of a young witch close to the Deathbuster's age lying at an awkward angle half under a table.

Rodolphus's handiwork, no doubt. From the looks of it he'd Cruciated her first.

_Ah, that's the warlock I married. _Despite his inferiority to Lord Voldemort, there were times — like now — when Bellatrix felt proud of him. He wasn't afraid to cause pain, and he knew what she liked.

A huge ruckus exploded upstairs. It sounded like furniture was breaking through glass, pottery, even wood. Randolph was yelling something about antlers and giant crickets along with a few choice non-magical curses.

A masked figure glided out of an another room like a ghost and hurried to the stairs.

Although she knew he couldn't see it, Bellatrix grinned at her husband. "Let's go!"

**X-x-X-x-X-x-X**

**X-x-X-x-X-x-X**

Shivering in the dark in a secret compartment behind the wall of his bedroom closet, the Deathbuster Corvus struggled to steady his nerves enough to perform the emergency action. They'd taken them by surprise; he hadn't realized how many there were until he saw the two and heard the awful sounds of an untold number more fighting his family downstairs.

He'd managed to kill the big one, luckily, but the other Death Eater had barely missed his face with the dreaded green curse, and the fighting antlers, giant bugs, locking charms, and hidden compartment would only last for so long.

And what of his family?

He prayed his mother, sisters, niece and brother were okay, or at least still alive. At any rate he couldn't — no, _wouldn't_ — abandon them.

The Death Eaters had the advantage of numbers and seasoned fighters, but he and his family had an ace up their sleeve.

Switching his wand to his left hand, he poked around his right wrist until he felt the tingle that meant he'd located his Dragon Mark. Pressing the wand to it firmly caused it to glow a mystical, radiant green. Focusing his thoughts on Draco and Draco alone, he lowered his lips to the tattoo and spoke…

**X-x-X-x-X-x-X**

**X-x-X-x-X-x-X**

The moment Draco felt his mark tingle with a mild electrical sensation he leapt of his barstool and teleported to the top of a wooded hill outside town limits. Shifting his wand to his left hand, he pulled up his sleeve and uttered the incantation to make his dragon tattoo visible again. Once it appeared he pressed the tip of his wand into it and held it there to open up communication with whoever was trying to get ahold of him.

"Draco? Draco we need your help! Come quick! My brother Astor and I are being attacked by a large group of Death Eaters in our own home!"

Draco recognized Corvus's voice at once. The young shade's tone was flushed with panic.

_Bloody Hell._

Still a bit buzzed, he formed his reply. "Is Tom there?"

Promise or not, valuable minions or not, Draco had absolutely no intention of going up against Lord Voldemort.

"I don't think so…no!" Corvus sounded about ready to wet himself, "Please, My Lord. They're breaking down my door as we speak!"

Draco decided that Corvus's report was genuine and Tom probably wasn't there. It wasn't like him to bring backup on simple missions, and anyway hadn't Wicca said she was going to be with him tonight? Tom's mind was likely to be elsewhere. "Address." he commanded, feeling a little light-headed. The subtle but unmistakable beginnings of nausea were already starting to stir in his stomach. _I'll make this quick._

"42 Rosebalm Street. Big green house."

"Already there."

**X-x-X-x-X-x-X**

**X-x-X-x-X-x-X**

Bellatrix raced up the fine-grain mahogany stairs with the unbridled joy of a teenaged girl rushing to a super-sale and the grace to match. She could almost _see _her victim struggling in pain, feel his sheer, desolate hopelessness and sorrow as she informed him she had already killed his brother. She would drink his suffering like fine wine: each spasming muscle and desperate attempt at salvation tickling the nerves along her spine with sweet ecstasy.

Reaching the top, she shot down the corridor to the right, the sight of Randolph struggling with crickets the size of dogs drawing her attention like a moth to light. She took no more notice of Bernard lying stock-still to the far left other than to acknowledge that he was down and probably dead. The dull roar of Alexia and Rodolphus's footfalls a moment behind mixed with Randolph's sharp "Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra!" and overpowered her hearing.

When she caught up with him, the crickets were dead and the mysterious antlers she'd heard him swearing about nowhere to be found. Everything was broken and lying about in ruins, and there were sharp gashes and holes in the sides of the walls. The silver-clad Death Eater was staring at a fine black wood door with an intricate carving of a unicorn charging a dragon on it.

"He went in there." Randolph grumped, "And he killed Bernard!"

Bellatrix shoved him aside. She was first, she was _always _first. "I can bloody well _see_ that." she snapped, pausing a moment to appreciate the perfectly-rendered art on the door. A dragon had never looked more fierce, a unicorn more noble.

It _was_ beautiful.

Too bad she had to destroy it.

"Reducto!" she barked, backing up and slamming someone — she didn't care who — into the wall.

The door caved inward as though a mountain troll had smashed into it with a giant sledgehammer. The Death Eater she'd backed into grunted.

_Where _is_ he? _The eager black-haired witch thought the moment she entered. Messy bed, knocked-over terrainium…no sign of the Deathbuster. She stalked to the center of the room, took another look. Her three companions followed behind her, turning their heads this way and that.

The moment was filled with an eerie silence.

In the upper right-hand corner of the room next to the head of the bed sat a tall vertical dresser on which a large figurine of a majestic black jackal outfitted with gold trimmings rested.

_The god Anubis._

Bellatrix didn't like the way the figure lay so solidly with its paws outstretched, ears fully erect, staring her down fearlessly with those Egyptian-style black-and-gold eyes. Eyes that seemed almost alive.

Anubis was the god of death, funerals, judgment, and protection. Upon a person's death, he took their heart and weighed it against the Feather of Truth on the Scales of Thoth. If the scales balanced, the person would have a Heavenly afterlife. But if the heart was too heavy with selfishness and corruption, the soul in question was doomed to a hellish afterlife. Or so the legend went. Anubis was said to be among the oldest and wisest of gods and no-one, witch or otherwise, could ever hope to deceive him.

A phantom chill electrified Bellatrix's spine. She didn't like that figure. Not one bit.

Yet she dared not destroy it. Gods had good reason not to fear mages — they were fully and truly immortal, and could not be killed by any means, even the killing curse. Their magic was foreign and dangerous.

She didn't realize how long she'd been staring at the Anubis statue until she heard Alexia say "Maybe he disapparated?"

"Always a possibility." Randolph muttered, "Not everyone puts their family above themselves."

At that moment, Bellatrix noticed the closet door was slightly ajar.

_Aha!_

"No, I think our rat is hiding in a little hole." she laughed. Hurrying over to the sliding door, she threw it back. "Reveal."

A glowing cinnabar line appeared and traced a perfect square shape in the wall, betraying the secret compartment.

Yet rather than gleeful anticipation, a black unease fell on Bellatrix. She could almost _feel_ Anubis watching her.

_But that's ridiculous, _she reasoned, _the Deathbusters couldn't possibly be in cahoots with _him, _could they?_

Their dragon masks _did_ look more like jackals than dragons…

_That's just stupid_. She shook the thought from her mind. Now was not the time to be getting cold feet. "Reducto! Expelliarmus!" The wall imploded inward and the black-haired young man standing behind it gave a sharp yell of pain as the pieces sliced into him. His wand jetted out of his hand and hit the wall behind, dropping uselessly to the floor.

Bellatrix gazed upon this lesser being with the cold ruthlessness of a venomous snake regarding its next meal. He looked a little like Regulus Black, but there was no way in hell he was a pureblood. He was more handsome than his brother had been, and she was glad she had saved him for capture.

"Mercy!" He cried at once, no doubt overwhelmed by the five masked figures crowded before him. His face bled with tiny cuts.

"You expect mercy? From _her_?" Rodolphus asked incredulously. He laughed at the absurdity of it.

"Yeah!" Alexia huffed, leveling her wand at him, "Where's your Dark Lord now?"

"Right here." The voice was slow, confident, and hauntingly familiar.

As one Bellatrix and her companions pivoted to see none other than Draco Malfoy standing before them, blocking the wrecked door. He wore no mask, but his everyday attire was almost completely covered in a cloak of the darkest silver. A smug, slightly-drunken smirk was plastered upon his face.

_IMPOSSIBLE_! Her own nephew, Dark Lord to the Deathbusters?

Gasps filled the large bedroom. Bellatrix wasn't sure, but one of them might have been her own.

"Oh sh — " Randolph started to say, but his speech mutated into screams as Draco threw out his left hand and hit him in the face with a snaking current of blue-white lightning.

Alexia made the next move. "Avad — "

Draco swept his wand through the air like a cutting scythe and the next thing Bellatrix knew her wand was flying out of her hand and she and the others were hitting the wall/bed/wherever.

_Yeeowch_! Now it was her turn to experience pain. The back of her skull had collided with the wall with enough force to temporarily daze her. She fell forward onto her hands and knees, the carpet feeling too rough under her twisting fingers.

Vision swimming slightly, she glanced up through the eye-holes of her still-in-place mask to see Draco stop the eruption of lightning from his open palm and fire a green curse — silently — from his wand. The magic hit Randolph and he dropped to the floor, dead.

Now Draco uttered some strange words Bellatrix had never heard before and a whirling black-and-violet torrent of pure ripping, violent magic shot out of his wand and licked around the body of one of the two other remaining Death Eaters like a lashing, live whip of barbed-wire. The size and width of a rattlesnake it seemed to be all over the target's body at once, and there must have been some kind of a cutting hex involved because large spatters of blood began appearing on the sandy carpet and furniture.

"Silencio!" Draco banished the earsplitting screams — most definitely Alexia's — into nothingness. He gave his wand a couple of swift jerks up and down, and Alexia, still covered in angry black magic, flew up into the ceiling forcefully and then shot back down, only to repeat the process again and again, even as her life's blood began to decorate the room.

_How DARE he hurt me! _Rage billowed within Bellatrix, filling every fiber of her body until she felt she would burst. _I've had enough!_ The penalty for hurting her was death. Nephew or no, Draco had to die. Being an enemy of Lord Voldemort's made him as good as a bloodtraitor in her eyes anyway.

Then another thought quickly occurred. _I'll be famous! Famous for killing a Phenomenal! And Voldemort will be highly pleased with me for getting rid of his most dangerous, troublesome enemy. So pleased he'll be _forced _to notice me! He'll know my love for him is truly pure, because I valued him over family._

All this thinking took less than two seconds. Her decision made, Bellatrix held out her hand. "Accio wand!" Her voice was a rushed whisper, so as not to attract Draco's attention.

"No! Draco! It's me! Your uncle Rodolphus! _Uncle_ Rodolphus!" He had removed his mask, and now his pointed, ghostly face was even paler than usual. He was pleading, begging for his life.

_Pathetic._

But it was distracting Draco. That was a plus.

All she needed were a few seconds and a clear shot. Even warlocks as powerful as Draco was couldn't survive a direct hit from a killing curse. She threw off her mask, both to increase visibility and further distract her nephew if he happened to look this way. He wouldn't be expecting his Aunt Bella to try and kill him.

_Naïve idiot. He may be a pureblood, but the way he's acting makes his life forfeit. If only he'd done the SMART thing and STAYED a Death Eater._

The next second flashed by in a surreal blur.

Bellatrix, in a sitting position, aimed her wand at Draco. But Draco spun towards her at that same instance.

"Avada Kedavra!" Two voices rang out almost simultaneously. Bellatrix's stream left her wand first, but only by the bat of an eye. Unlike her, Draco didn't actually _need_ to say the words to get his killing curse out, and in this case only pure adrenalin had sparked him to belt out the command in the first place, so his magic actually left his wand before he'd even finished the last syllable.

Green collided with green, and Draco's curse barely slowed its pace in the process of annihilating Bellatrix's. Reduced to half-power, it continued on its path and struck the witch's wand and hand at the same time. Bellatrix Lestrange fell to the floor lifelessly, her wand exploding in her hand.

**X-x-X-x-X-x-X**

**X-x-X-x-X-x-X**

Draco was aghast. He couldn't believe what had just happened. It seemed too strange, too messed-up to be real.

She wouldn't.

She _couldn't._

Yet she had.

His own aunt had just tried to murder him. And in defending himself, he had killed her.

_Why? Why did she want to kill me? I didn't do anything to her…I'm family! How could she kill family! How _could _she?_

It was as if he'd been all warm and cozy in bed and someone had thrown a giant bucket of ice-water over his head. A nightmare come true. A horrible, twisted reality. If he hadn't been a Phenomenal, if he hadn't possessed such awesome magical power so as to be able to cast most spells, including the killing curse, purely by will, he'd be dead.

_My god, what a heartless bitch!_

Draco barely noticed Rodolphus and Corvus in the room with him. Holding out his free hand, he silently Accioed Rodolphus's wand into it. Just in case. "How could she?" he said softly, sounding like a traumatized little boy, staring at the lifeless body of his aunt crumpled onto the floor, "We were family." His face had taken on an ashen color. He looked sick.

"Oh, don't act so surprised," Rodolphus panted, climbing to his feet. His face was slick with sweat, and his one good eye kept flitting nervously between Draco and Corvus. "Remember what she did to her niece, Nymphadora Tonks? Tonks was just as closely related to her as you are."

Corvus rose, wiping wood and debris from his face. Scowling, he said, "Yeah, I heard about that. Was that for being an Auror or marrying a werewolf?"

"Does it matter?" Draco shook his head, "Family are supposed to watch out for each other, or at the very least not _kill _each other. Even Harry treated me better than this woman!"

Rodolphus coughed. "Harry treats me better too, even with him being the Auror General and me a known Death Eater. At least he never played with my heart and made a lame-ass attempt to pretend to care about me."

Corvus made a face at him. "How could you _stand_ this woman?"

The Death Eater shook his head, and his hood fell back to reveal that long, unnaturally shiny red hair. His eyeliner was smeared down his cheeks with moisture, giving him the appearance of a goth makeup-job gone horribly wrong. "She was a pureblood. She looked good on my arm." he admitted in a rather subdued tone, "And…I used to think she cared. But even after she proved to me time and time again that she didn't…I was so used to her. She and Rab were all I had."

_Old habits are hard to break. _Draco agreed silently. Then, realizing Corvus's condition, he held out his left hand and curved his fingers back slowly, willing the desired effect. Little slivers and splinters of wood worked themselves out of Corvus's flesh, making him flinch a little, and the cuts and bruises healed up instantly without a trace. Not even the tiniest drop of blood remained.

The Deathbuster kneeled down on his knees respectfully, eyes sparkling with gratitude. "Thank you, My Lord."

From his perch at the foot of the bed, Rodolphus just shook his head, disbelief flickering over his sharp features. "I should have known…dragon tattoo, and your name means dragon. It's so obvious."

"I know, and that's exactly why people don't figure it out." Draco's tone of voice verged heavily on solemn. _Never thought I'd see the day Harry treated me better than family._

Corvus straightened. "And my family?"

Draco averted his steely gaze to Rodolphus. He'd never been good at these kinds of things. "I don't know." he answered flatly, "At least a few of them were dead when I got here. I didn't see Astor." He watched his uncle search around frantically for his wand. The vampiric Death Eater's green eye went wide with horror as he realized who held it. "Now," these next words were directed at Rodolphus, "the question is what to do with _you_. I can't have people knowing my identity and Tom can read you like a book from cover to bloody cover."

For a moment, Rodolphus froze up, eye alive with fear, his expression distinctly akin to that of a Death Eater who had just moseyed up and slapped Tom in the face and called him a filthy manbitch, only to wear out of the Imperious he was under at that exact moment. Then resolution set in, and he hung his head sadly, all the fight leaving his body. "I suppose you're going to kill me. In that case there's nothing I can do to save myself. Just…please, make it quick. No super Crucio, or black-and-purple magic whips of death, or flaying me alive, or whatever the hell else you Fen can do."

"Would you do it?"

"Pardon?" Rodolphus's French accent was at its thickest. He lifted his head, puzzled.

"Would you kill a family member?" Draco elaborated. As his uncle was forming a reply, he read his thoughts. "You don't believe you would," he announced matter-of-factly, "You believe you would do anything you could to avoid killing a family member, even if it was someone you didn't personally care much for. Your cousin's an Auror who's deliberately blind when it comes to you, and you likewise never bother her. You appreciate this. You loved your parents and brother. You have strong family values."

"You're a legilimens?" Corvus marveled.

"No. I just read his thoughts. It's easy because he's thinking very loudly and I can hear everything clearly. He thinks I'm going to kill him. Now he's wondering how I'm going to avoid it." Draco tilted his head to one side, frowning grimly but with more than a hint of compassion playing about his features. "I'm not going to kill you." he stated, and though his voice was not exactly reassuring it was not unkind, "I'm not my aunt. I don't kill family, even if they're only related to me through a marriage that just ended. And…I think you'd make an excellent godparent for my new grandchild, which Wicca doesn't want me to know about yet." Sighing, he shifted Rodolphus's wand over to his right hand to rest with his own and used his free fingers to massage his temples. _The more I learn the more I wish I didn't know. They say ignorance is bliss…I guess that explains why I'm not happy these days. _Rodolphus perked up, and he regarded him with a second heavier, more heartfelt sigh. "However, there is the problem of you knowing about my pastime. I don't fancy the idea of completely wiping your mind of all memories, which is what would happen if I tried to make you forget about me being the Deathbusters' Dark Lord, but perhaps something can be arranged." He paused, deep in thought. "Severus knows a lot about mind-altering and mind-concealing spells…maybe he could help. And Willow once mentioned something about a Lethe's Bramble that can make you forget specific things…we'll start with Severus. Yes. That's the way forward. I'll take you to him now."

Rodolphus swallowed nervously. "You think he'll _want_ to help?"

Draco's intonation was the verbal equivalent of a shrug. "Probably. He might not be a Death Eater anymore, but he's not as fluffy and de-clawed as people like to think. He has friends on almost all sides, so it's really hard to tell _where_ he stands. But he's good friends with me, so he probably won't turn us away." He stepped towards his shifty uncle.

"But…won't the Aurors be here? Why haven't they come already?" Corvus wondered, "Not that I'm complaining…"

Draco stopped briefly to glance at him before continuing nonchalantly on his way. "Oh, they'll be here alright. Eventually. The moment I got here I made this whole house soundproof and cast strong spells of confusion and repulsion around it. Anyone who approaches will instantly forget whatever it was they were going to do and become confused. They'll also instinctually move away from this house and chase after wild geese elsewhere. I couldn't have Aurors busting in and finding me helping Deathbusters, now could I? It'll wear off in about another fifteen minutes. You know what to do about your mark."

"Yes My Lord." Corvus's tone was satisfactorily respectful.

Draco rested a hand on Rodolphus's shoulder, causing the other warlock to flinch most unbecomingly. Grey-blue eyes found the green one, and Draco gave his new "friend" a small smile. "Don't worry Uncle. We'll fix this. You'll be back Death Eating in no time. Just stay away from my Deathbusters next time, kay? I might not be as big an arse as Tom, but even my patience has limits."

They vanished before Rodolphus could manage a reply, leaving Corvus alone in a house full of corpses.

**X-x-X-x-X-x-X**

**X-x-X-x-X-x-X**

_I'm dreaming. I have to be. Did that…did that really happen? Am I really dead?_

When the darkness of oblivion cleared and Bellatrix's vision returned, she could see nothing but a heavy grey mist.

Wait.

No.

There were tiny golden lights far in the distance. Slowly moving dots meandering through a sea of endless grey.

Here there was no perception. No up, down, sideways; no horizon. It was impossible for Bellatrix to tell where she was in relation to the lights, or anything else for that matter. Though there was no ground, she felt ridiculously heavy, and as though she should be falling. Yet she lingered in the same space, if this place actually _had_ space.

_It's true. He killed me. Little bastard killed me!_ Her fury burned bright, turned the "air" around her red. She glanced down to look at her hands, only she had none. She was formless.

Formless, and her emotions could light her surroundings with color.

Beautiful. Just bloody beautiful.

_This is pish._

Then…a streak of black! White fangs. Gold trappings.

_Anubis._

The jackal at last stood in front of her ( Or was it behind? She could see every direction at once. ), and morphed into a blinding human-shaped silhouette made purely of brilliant golden light and energy.

_Come_, he said, and his powerful, ancient voice seemed to be everywhere at once, _I will take you safely to a place where you may learn compassion. Go astray from me, child, and your journey will be a long one of tears and hardship, for one way or another, the Scales _will_ be made to balance in the end._

Bellatrix hesitated. She didn't like this. Weren't gods sometimes tricksters? The one that had given her ambrosia had done so with cruel intent. Whichever god that had been. What if this one was of the same train?

_Please, _Anubis's tone was teaming suspiciously with unconditional love, infinite understanding, _Let me help ease your suffering._

_No._

She couldn't.

She _wouldn't._

She knew better than some high-and-mighty 'god' what was best for her! If she went with him he'd lead her straight to a Hell dimension, she just knew it.

_You aren't fooling me. _She thought angrily.

And with that, the spirit that had once been called Bellatrix Lestrange turned her back and shut her mind to Anubis and the light.

_No, you're fooling yourself._ As her essence left his in favor of darker places, the black jackal reemerged from his brilliantly luminous form. A single tear trickled down his eye.


End file.
